With Born Tenacity
by Cheryl Dyson
Summary: His bruised and bloody body was fished from the Mediterranean Sea with only a wand and a single key as a clue to his identity. Even his name was a mystery. Did he dare to trust the man who found him lying on the beach? This story intentionally parallels The Bourne Identity by Robert Ludlum, as per the original prompt request.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue - Sea Swept**

He came to with a start and nearly flung himself up and away at the feel of something cold and wet beneath his cheek, but then he stilled, warned by some sort of instinct, and held himself steady. He opened his eyes.

The smell of salt assailed him and he lifted his head to see only darkness. He was sopping wet, and heard a repetitive _lap lap lap_ sound. The slight movement of his head caused whatever he lay upon to tip and rock; as well as setting up a clamour of pain-bells in his brain.

_Bloody hell_, he thought, wincing. He forced his eyes open again and saw nothing but darkness, and then he made out the battered edge of a piece of wood. He seemed to be floating on a makeshift raft upon the sea. _Lovely_. He lay his head back upon the wood and shut his eyes. His head throbbed.

Deciding there wasn't much he could do about his predicament until daylight, he drifted back into unconsciousness.

**Chapter One - Flotsam**

Draco strolled along the gravel road, shoes crunching in a comforting rhythm as he walked. Morning was his favourite time of day, a blank canvas filled with promise and potential that generally revealed itself as monotony, routine, and crushing boredom, but sometimes he was pleasantly surprised and he usually awoke with a hopeful outlook.

Sunrise was just tinting the edges of the few clouds with a purple-peach glow, and the Mediterranean Sea picked up a hint of the colour as the waves gently lapped against the low rock wall that separated the gravel road from the water. Weather-wise, the day should remain just as lovely as the current beauty promised.

Draco frowned as he neared the edge of the rock wall. It had broken away long ago and turned into a jumble of scattered stones; some of them lay submerged and others had wandered out into the scrubby sea grass. A large, dark lump lay just beyond the submerged stones, something that did not belong. Draco had walked this path nearly every day for the past five years and he had never seen anything large washed ashore.

Checking that his wand was still tucked into the leather sling between his shoulder blades—it was—he walked closer to investigate.

As he approached, what first appeared to be a bundle of rags became an outstretched arm and fingers.

_Merlin, all I need is a dead body popping up nearly on my doorstep_. Draco thought about turning right round and marching back to his house, but he supposed the authorities would come knocking on his door anyway, due to the proximity of the corpse. Perhaps it would be less trouble in the long run to call the police himself.

He sighed heavily and walked closer. Pity, the man seemed to be in decent shape, judging by the muscular arm. Hopefully he hadn't been in the water long. Draco wasn't getting near him if he were half-eaten.

The man floated on a slab of wood, splintered, but large enough to hold his full weight. Draco wondered if he'd been shipwrecked. A dark shock of hair covered most of the man's face.

Draco knelt, grimacing as the sea water sloshed up and over his shoes. He reached out and felt the man's neck, seeking a pulse. The skin was cold, as expected, but after a moment Draco sensed a thready heartbeat fluttering beneath his fingertips. He rocked back on his heels, trying to decide whether or not he was pleased that the man lived. A corpse would have been less trouble, really.

There was no help for it. Draco stood and looked carefully up and down the beach, alert for any of his neighbours. They tended to be late risers, but with his luck one of them would decide to wander out for a morning walk today.

The coast looked clear, so Draco reached back and unsheathed his wand. As usual, it was a relief to hold it. Normally he only did so in the privacy of his home. He had grown used to living amongst Muggles, but he missed being able to utilise magic whenever he needed it.

He cast a Lightening Charm on the man and then stooped down to pick him up, hoisting him over his shoulders like a sack of grain. Not that he had ever carried a sack of grain, Merlin forbid, but he'd seen photos in the static Muggle magazines in town.

Once inside his house, Draco paused, faced with another conundrum. From the outside, he lived in a modest, two-room shack. The locals thought him an eccentric Englishman escaping from a sordid past (and possibly a jealous lover). He had done little to discourage their rumours.

He supposed it would be wisest to continue the charade. Crossing the sparse living room, Draco nudged open the bedroom door and placed the man on the rough-hewn four-poster. He looked around as he did so, hoping the place looked lived-in. In truth, Draco hadn't spent a single night in this room.

He flicked on the bedside lamp and cast a quick Drying Charm on the man, not wanting to ruin the bedcovers. He might not have slept in the bed, but he still owned the duvet and he wanted to keep it decent.

As the lamp light brightened the room, Draco glanced at the man... And froze.

His features looked bloody familiar. A memory niggled at the corner of his mind, bringing back images long-buried. _It couldn't be_.

Shaking, Draco reached out a hand and brushed the damp strands of black hair away from the man's forehead, to reveal a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt.

Draco sat down on the edge of the bed, staring. _It couldn't be. It couldn't. But it was_.

Harry Potter had found him.

~*~

Draco paced. And then he made a cup of tea and paced some more. And then he went back into the bedroom to verify that ___Harry Potter_was still in his bed (he was) and that he was still breathing (he was).

Despite the fact that it was utterly insane, Draco had to assume that it was real. That Potter was real. And unconscious. That last thing was important. If Draco didn't do something, then Potter might quickly become not-alive and then Draco would be responsible (sort of) for the death of the wizarding world's greatest champion. Or, at least, Britain's greatest champion. Draco wasn't sure if anyone in Spain had even heard of him. He hadn't bothered to ask; Draco didn't spend much time amongst Spanish wizards. And when he did he went disguised with... Polyjuice Potion. Of course.

Smiling a little, Draco entered the bathroom, depressed the tile with the snake motif, and walked through the wall when it shifted aside to reveal the secret passage. The room he entered was nothing like the shack he had left; his real living room was large and ornate, complete with provincial cherry wood furnishings, lush carpets, a huge fireplace, and a number of doors leading to, respectively, his kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, library, and potion's lab.

It was to the last that he headed. Recognition had been a worry ever since he had fled the U.K. for warmer, friendlier climes. Therefore he had made certain to keep a large stockpile of Polyjuice Potion on hand, along with a selection of hairs to provide a solid number of disguises.

Draco pulled out a tiny wooden drawer and lifted a blondish hair from a designated tray. Blond Muggle Number Six. Draco's favourite. He tucked the hair into a bottle of Polyjuice and then tucked the bottle into his pocket. If Potter so much as twitched, Draco would be gone; replaced by a nondescript Muggle that no wizard would recognise.

As it turned out, Potter didn't twitch. He didn't so much as blink while Draco disrobed him, cleaned and bandaged his wounds, and applied healing salves. Potter had quite an array of injuries, including broken ribs, a nasty, infected gash on his right thigh, multiple bruises and contusions, and a large lump on his forehead, just above the famous scar. The last was probably responsible for Potter's unconsciousness.

Draco had found Potter's wand inside of his shirt. It seemed a miracle that it hadn't fallen out during whatever sea voyage Potter had taken. Draco placed it atop the bookshelf on the far side of the small bedroom. He considered snapping it in half and throwing it into the sea, to tell Potter that it had been lost, but he pictured Potter flying through clawing, searing flames to rescue him and then put the idea aside. Potter carried only one other item: a decent-sized bag filled with Galleons and Sickles, and a sodden piece of parchment wrapped around a Gringotts key. Draco opened it to find writing unmarred by the seawater. Charmed, for certain.

**_Harry,  
The contents might be useful to you. I dare not send it to you directly and hopefully this key won't be intercepted. Good luck._ **

The note was unsigned. Draco folded it, replaced the key, and set it next to Potter's wand.

In spite of his injuries, Potter looked good. He looked _very _good, in fact. Draco let his gaze drift over the unconscious man. Potter's youthful lankiness had fled, replaced with defined muscles and sculpted curves that were not bulky, but suggested strength and robust health.

Potter's black hair was much longer, hanging well over his eyes and curling onto the pillow. A dark shadow covered his chin; another day and it would turn into a proper beard. It looked strange on him, as did the lack of glasses. He'd probably lost them at sea.

Rather than spend another moment admiring his old nemesis, Draco covered Potter with a blanket, cast a number of warding and alarm charms, and went to bed. He would hopefully discover what Potter was up to in the morning.

~TBC~


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two - Fighting the Undertow**

He woke up abruptly. One moment he was locked in the depths of a disturbing dream (with some faceless, cold, soul-sucking creature chasing him) and the next he was wide awake and utterly disoriented.

He lay still and tuned in his senses, heart hammering from the dream, uncertain whether or not he was in danger. A clean smell filled his nostrils, reminiscent of fresh linen and lemons, with a hint of floral beneath. And then a brief whiff of the sea, which brought back another set of memories entirely.

He remembered floating on a cold slab of wood, with darkness all around. And pain...

He opened his eyes to find a dimly lit room filled with sparse, rustic furnishings. He tried to sit up, and shut his eyes with a groan as his head and neck set up a painful protest at the attempt. A questing hand discovered a bandage wound tightly around his head. Someone had tended him.

He opened his eyes to find the apparent someone standing in the doorway, regarding him with a gentle smile. "I see you are awake." The man walked into the room, quietly and with a slow stride, as though he thought moving too abruptly might spook his injured guest.

"I... Yes. I guess I am. Can you tell me _where _I am?"

The man arrived at the bedside and sat down in a chair that had probably been dragged close for monitoring. "You are in Spain. On the coast, just north of Valencia. Rather close to the middle of nowhere."

The man was striking, with pale blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He was tall and slender and quite attractive if one liked that sort of thing.

_Do I like that sort of thing? _he wondered and then thought about it while perusing the man again. _Yes, I believe I might._

"And you are?"

"I am Malcolm Dracaena."

"Pleased to meet you, Malcolm. Um... would you happen to know who _I_ am?"

The lovely Malcolm frowned. "Should I?"

"I'm not sure. But I was rather hoping one of us would know. I seem to have...forgotten."

Malcolm blinked at him and then leaned forwards to stare at him intently. "You don't know who you are?"

He shook his head, struggling with the concept now that he'd said it aloud. "I can't remember much at all, actually. I know how to speak, strangely, since I don't know how I know... Wait, you said I'm in Spain. We aren't speaking Spanish, are we?"

Malcolm laughed and it was a beautiful sound. Some of his growing anxiety eased at the sound of it. "No, we are definitely speaking English. I am a transplant from Britain. It's rather lucky you washed up on my doorstep, although it's possible you would have begun speaking Spanish if you'd been addressed in that language first. You really have no idea who you are?"

He shook his head and touched the bandage above his eye. Trying to remember made his headache grow and he winced at the pain of it. "Merlin, it hurts to—hey! I remember who Merlin is! A great wizard. And I..." He gasped and sat up. "Did you... Did you happen to find a sort of...stick?"

"You mean your wand?" Malcolm's tone was dry, but his smile was brilliant.

"Oh thank Merlin. You're a wizard?"

"Yes, and you seem to remember that much."

"I do. I remember casting spells. _Lumos _and _Incendio _and _Colloportus _and _Expelliarmus_." The last one made him feel as though he stood before a great chasm, but it also increased the shrieking pain in his head. "I remember them, but I don't know why. Or even how I know them."

"Do you know what they do?"

"I think so. _Lumos _makes light. _Incendio _makes fire. Why is a British wizard living on the coast of Spain?"

"Why did a British wizard with a head injury wash up on the coast of Spain so close to the house of another British wizard?"

"Maybe I could answer that if I knew who I was."

"Indeed. But I suppose we should call you something in the meantime. Any ideas?"

"Ron?"

Malcolm wrinkled his nose. "You are definitely _not _a Ron."

Now that he'd said it, he realised Malcolm was right. It wasn't his name. In fact, it was the name of someone... A flash came to him, of red hair and freckles. A young boy holding a rat. He frowned. Was it a memory or a character in a book he'd read as a child?

"Well, then. Who do you think I look like? One name is as good as any, I suppose."

Malcolm cocked his head. "Archibald?"

"_Archibald_? You think I look like an _Archibald_? Bloody hell, get me a mirror. What do I look like, anyway? I thought I was decently young, but now—" He held up his hands before his face and was relieved to find them unwrinkled and sporting no liver spots or excessive veining.

Malcolm laughed again. "All right, I'm sorry. Apparently one name is not as good as another."

"Apparently not."

"Pollux?"

"That...seems vaguely familiar." Something about the name niggled his senses. "Horrific, but familiar."

"Castor?"

"Definitely not."

"Oh come now, astrological names are all the rage."

"No."

"I suppose it is possible that your name is Harry."

Even as Malcolm said it, the name resonated like a gong. His memory offered up the sound of it being said a dozen different ways, from a variety of voices. One, a woman's voice, calling it urgently. He frowned. Did he have a girlfriend? A wife? He glanced at his left hand, but saw no ring.

"Why Harry?"

Malcolm walked to the shelf across the room and retrieved a wand and a scrap of paper. "It's the only name on this paper. Yours?"

He took it and opened it up before turning the key over in his hand. It did not look familiar, nor did the wand, although when he picked it up the wood felt comfortable in his hand. One groove seemed to fit his thumb to perfection.

"_Lumos_," he said and sighed with relief when the tip lit brightly. Probably his wand, then. He tried the name. "Harry." It sounded odd to his ears. "Maybe you should try it."

"Harry?"

"I guess it will work, until I find out if it's really mine or not."

"We could always go with Pollux."

"Harry, it is." He offered up a smile and was rewarded with one from Malcolm. He sagged back into the pillows, suddenly exhausted.

"I'll get you a potion or two. Be right back."

~TBC~


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three - Mirage**

Draco returned to the kitchen and picked up the potions he'd set out for Potter. He'd heard him stir and downed the Blond Muggle Number Six Polyjuice potion, now dubbed "Malcolm". He would have to remember to take it until Potter departed—and he would have to remember to call him _Harry _now, as he was not supposed to know him as Potter, since the mysterious note had not supplied a last name.

As he held a potion up to the light to verify the correct colour, he pondered the idea that Potter was having him on. But why pretend to have amnesia? He couldn't be looking for Draco. After the war, Draco had been cleared of all charges (thanks to Potter's intervention), and his departure from the wizarding world was not exactly a secret. If Potter had wanted to know where he was, a quick trip to the Manor in Auror Robes would do the trick. Draco's mother had no reason to keep his whereabouts hidden. She came to Valencia twice a year to visit, although she refused to stay in Draco's "hovel" and he'd had to travel to a nearby wizarding hotel to meet her.

Potter seemed genuinely confused, and far too pleasant to guess Draco's true identity. Unless he'd become an accomplished actor in the past five years, Draco thought the prat might actually be telling the truth.

He returned to the bedroom to find Potter, long-haired and unkempt, lying with his eyes shut, but when they opened they were the same brilliant green they had always been. Draco sat on the edge of the bed and offered three vials, holding them up one at a time.

"This one is for pain. It deadens everything quite nicely but has the side-effect of giving you an itchy scalp. Don't scratch; it only makes it worse. This one will put you to sleep to counter the itching if it becomes unbearable. And this is Skele-gro. If you have any broken or fractured bones, it won't take long to heal them, and I suspect your ribs are not exactly whole. The pain potion will counter any residual pain caused by the Skele-gro." Draco nudged his chin in the direction of the bedside table. "That jar contains a healing salve that will take care of your external wounds. I used it sparingly when I thought you were a Muggle, but we can apply it more liberally now."

"All right. Thank you for helping me, by the way. You don't know anything about me. I could be a criminal, fleeing from the law."  
"Are you?" Draco nearly snorted at the thought of the Chosen One fleeing from justice.

"I…" Potter frowned. "Maybe? I feel that I'm in danger. Perhaps the key holds some clue."

At the word "danger" Draco's head snapped up. He hadn't thought of that, stupidly, considering Potter's condition. Had he been attacked? Perhaps Potter's magic had simply honed in on the nearest magical source in an attempt to save him. Stranger things had happened, especially to Potter.

"I'll set some wards and stay alert. Just in case."

"What if I am wanted and the authorities come for me?"

"We'll deal with that when the time comes, Po—Harry."

A wan smile decorated Potter's face. "And thank you for not calling me Pollux."

"Drink your potions and go to sleep, spoilsport."

Potter drank all of the potions and settled back into the bed, solidifying Draco's suspicion that he did not have a single clue about Draco's true identity. If he had, no force on earth would have caused him to drink potions given to him by Draco Malfoy.

Draco suspected that even Polyjuice wouldn't have fooled Potter if he'd sought Draco and stumbled upon a lone, blond, British wizard on the coast of Spain.

~TBC~


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four - Doldrums**

Harry healed quickly, thanks to Malcolm's potions and a steady diet of tasty meals. Malcolm was a decent cook and served polenta and risotto and roasted duck, and several varieties of poached or fried fish. Harry wondered if he had ever disliked any of the foods in the past, but he shrugged it off and ate with gusto, enjoying the taste of each new thing without prior prejudices.  
He forced himself out of bed on the day after Malcolm had offered him the potions. Most of his aches and pains had subsided, thanks to the potions (even the one with the maddening itch) and only a lingering dizziness and ache from his head wound kept him from leaving Malcolm's hospitality sooner.

"Would you like to walk with me?" Malcolm asked after flicking his wand and putting away their breakfast dishes. Harry had cleaned them, but he had no idea where they belonged. "Do you feel up to it?"

"I think so. Maybe something out of doors will jar my memory."

Other than the sea, the scenery was nothing special. A long gravel road bordered the low rock wall that kept the waves from washing out the gravel track, and the other side of the road held a long stretch of tall, scrubby grey bushes. Far down the road, a pale slab suggested another small house; Malcolm's nearest neighbour.

It was mid-morning and the air promised to warm into potential unpleasantness, but at the moment it was mild with a gentle breeze blowing in from the water. Harry thought it might be nice if there were trees or a beach or something to recommend it, but honestly, the view was pretty ugly.

"Why did you move here?"

Malcolm shrugged. "I wanted to get away. This seemed as good a place as any."

"It's kind of grim, don't you think?"

"So was my mood, at the time. Now it's kind of grown on me."

"Were you escaping something or someone?" Harry thought his questions were possibly too personal, but he didn't know anything about Malcolm. Or about anyone, really.

"I think I was escaping myself. How about you? Any idea why you might have been floating in the Mediterranean? Nothing jiggled loose in the brain yet?"

Harry laughed. "Fine, I'll change the subject. Nothing new has come to light. What do you think about that key? Have you ever seen anything like it?"

Malcolm stopped walking. He looked at Harry and then away. "It's a Gringotts key. A vault key from the wizarding bank in London."

At the name, Harry suddenly pictured a massive room, and then a cart hurtling down what looked like a steep mine shaft. He had been in both places, he knew, but only one of them looked like a bank. He frowned, wondering what one had to do with the other.

"I suppose I should go there and try to find some clue as to who I am."

Malcolm nodded and continued walking. Harry trotted to catch up, wincing as the movement jarred a residual pain in his ankle. The Skele-gro had knit any fractured bones, but it hadn't done anything for strained tendons and sore muscles.

"You should wait a day or two until your head wound is more fully healed. It's a long journey back to London and excessive Apparition might exacerbate it."

Harry smiled. He liked the way Malcolm used fancy words like _exacerbate_ in casual conversation. He liked quite a few things about Malcolm, he'd noticed. The man was incredibly fit, with long, slender legs and an arse that drew Harry's attention whenever he turned away. There was something tantalisingly familiar about his mannerisms, like a memory just beyond reach. Unfortunately, Harry had a lot of those. He supposed Malcolm might remind him of someone, if only he could recall whom.  
"All right. I hope I remember how to Apparate."

"We'll have you practice before you leave."

He glanced at Malcolm and then turned his attention to the sun-sparkled waves. It had to get lonely, living here. He suspected Malcolm was enjoying his company more than he would admit. "Do you ever think about going back?"

Malcolm shrugged; Harry sensed the movement more than saw it. "Sometimes."

"Surely someone misses you."

"Only my mother." The tone was dry and possibly a bit regretful.

His own mother, Harry suddenly knew, was dead. It was something of a jolt and he reached out a hand, blindly catching Malcolm's forearm. Malcolm didn't pull away. "Sorry, I just… I got the strangest… My parents are dead. How odd to know that with certainty when everything else is so unclear."

"I'm sorry," Malcolm said.

Harry smiled. "Don't be. I don't even know who I am, much less recall anything about them to mourn. Hopefully I will one day."  
"I am sure you will. One day you will recall your puissant glory and discover that you are beloved by all. They probably have search parties out right now, combing the globe for you."

Harry laughed aloud at that. "Either that or I'm a wanted criminal who robbed that bank you were talking about. They could be combing the globe wanting my head on a pike."

"You seem far to kind and good to be the bank robbing sort."

Harry felt affronted. "Hey, I could be an international criminal!"

"Of course you could." Malcolm's face quirked in a grin and Harry let go of his arm to give him a gentle punch on the shoulder.

"Prat."

"Come on, international criminal. I've had enough fresh air. Care to be destroyed in a game of chess?"

"You're on."

~TBC~


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five - Red Sky at Morning**

Draco sat across from Harry and tried not to admire the way the candlelight gleamed against his black hair, still too long for proper recognition. The grin was familiar now, as was the delightful sparkle in Harry's green eyes. Draco cursed the circumstances that had brought him here, because without the barrier of animosity between them, and the constant reminders of their former history, Draco had discovered Harry to be pleasant company. He was witty and intelligent and amusing…and far too attractive.

Draco tried to blame it on the fact that he'd been alone for a long time, but the truth was simply that Harry Potter was bloody gorgeous. Even with no memory of his true identity, everything about him exuded confidence and power. Spellcasting was nearly effortless for him; Draco sometimes wondered if he even needed to murmur the incantation to bring a spell to life.

Draco was concerned that he was becoming attached. Earlier, Harry had been seated in one of Draco's rough-hewn chairs, reading a book, sprawled out with one leg thrown over the arm. Draco had paused for a moment to drink in the sight and Harry had lifted his eyes. Their stare had locked for one intense, heated moment, and then Draco had looked away, face flaming. He wondered if his naked lust had been visible and he hadn't dared to meet Harry's eyes for the next hour.

_He is Harry fucking Potter, Draco_, he admonished himself sternly and took a sip of his wine. _When he recalls himself he will sooner hex your bollocks than kiss you_.

And then there was the fact that he was now and would probably forever be Harry and no longer Potter. Draco consoled himself with the fact that the new Harry was not much like the old one. He looked different, for one thing, with his overly-long hair and lack of spectacles. Harry hadn't complained once about an inability to see, and Draco dared not bring up his vision without it seeming weird, so he could only assume that Harry had corrected his vision prior to whatever mishap he'd encountered, or it had miraculously corrected itself due to the blow to his head. Stranger things had happened.

The changes made Harry far more appealing as someone Draco would like to get to know, rather than an old nemesis he would rather avoid. And really, the sooner he departed, the better.

"Is this local wine?" Harry asked, swirling the red liquid in his glass and breaking Draco's reverie.

"Yes. Well, it's Spanish. Not particularly local. Do you like it?"

"I do, although I'm not sure I would recognise good wine from bad."

"And the sole?"

"Excellent, as always. Are you fishing for compliments?"

"Of course not." Draco huffed at being caught out.

"Well, I will give you one anyway. You are an excellent cook. Thank you for taking me in, and healing me, and putting up with my intrusion on your solitude."

"It hasn't been any trouble. And you might have caused me to realise that I've been alone too long."

Harry seemed to perk up. "Really?"

"Yes. And you are talking as though you plan to leave tonight."

"Not tonight. It's nearly dark, after all. But I thought I might head out tomorrow. Find my way back to London, if you can spare a map and possibly some directions to Apparition spots."

"That won't be necessary."

"What won't?"

"Giving you a map. Because I'm going with you." Draco felt nearly as surprised as Harry looked at the words. He had been vaguely considering the idea and then it had solidified into a ridiculous impulse. Once blurted out, however, he had no inclination of taking it back.

"You are?"

"Do you even know where Gringotts is or how to reach it?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Obviously you are chronically in need of guidance—and a haircut—and I don't see anyone else around to assist you."

"You think I need a haircut?"

Draco nearly rolled his eyes. Trust the Chosen One to focus on the meaningless portion of the conversation. "Yes. No. I don't know. It's not important."

Harry lifted the hair away from his forehead to reveal the famous scar and the new bump on his head. "Should I cut it short? Would you like that better?"

He looked ridiculous, honestly, and it highlighted his scar more than ever. Draco had to admit he much preferred the new Harry and considered the possibility that he might not even be recognized.

"You know, it occurs to me that we might want to disguise you. We cannot have you simply walk into Gringotts and request access to the vault, can we? What if you _are _some sort of criminal or bank robber?"

Harry frowned and let the hair drop back over one eye. Draco tried not to consider it sexy. "That's a very good point. How will we do it, then?"

Draco leaned forward, warming to the idea of concocting a plan. It was ridiculous, of course, because Harry was still Harry Potter. No matter how long Draco tried to keep him to himself, eventually he would return to the embrace of those who loved him, including the bushy-haired Granger, the ginger Weasel, and Harry's adoring public.

When that time came, Draco would go and visit his mother for a bit, and then return to his little house in Spain. Or perhaps not. Maybe he would seek a new seclusion. Someplace nicer and more tropical.

In the meantime he would try not to think about it.

~TBC~


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six - Sextant**

Paris was nice.

Malcolm had been forced to Side-along Harry, so they were taking the journey in short jumps with resting periods between, so as not to exhaust him. Harry found himself enjoying their nearness when Malcolm took hold of his arm and pulled out his wand to Disapparate them to the next location.

They had popped into a small Spanish village, and then on to Barcelona where they had spent the night in a nice Inn overlooking the sea. Malcolm had paid for the room with a casual, "You can pay me back when you remember where you hid all of your ill-gotten gains."

Harry had lain awake half the night looking at Malcolm's pale head upon the pillow in the neighbouring bed. In the small cottage, Malcolm had slept on the sofa in the miniscule living room/kitchen combination. Harry remembered wizarding space and wondered why Malcolm had not utilised it, but he had never thought to invade Malcolm's privacy in order to ask. Well, perhaps he had thought about it, but he'd refused to abuse his hospitality by snooping.

Paris was nice, but also dangerous. It seemed that romance was everywhere. Couples held hands and posed for photos and gazed adoringly into one another's eyes wherever Harry looked. As if to underscore his impression, a squealing woman and her friend stopped them to ask for a photograph. Bemused, Harry and Malcolm obliged her, standing awkwardly together, and then she asked if they would hold hands.

Harry stammered, but Malcolm laughed and took up his hand, standing even closer and leaning his head against Harry's. His cologne was intoxicating, or perhaps it was simply his nearness that caused Harry to feel lightheaded.

The girl beamed and snapped several photos, speaking in rapid French to her companion.

"What did she say?" Harry asked as she thanked them profusely and then departed. He wished he could think of a reason to continue holding Malcolm's hand, but Malcolm let go and stepped away.

"She thought we were a couple and said we looked lovely together."

"I always thought Muggles were homophobic." As Harry spoke, he seemed to recall a large, angry man shouting at the television, shaking a fist as he complained about "those faggots" and using even worse language. The memory was almost physically painful, so Harry pushed it away. He wished he could remember who he was so that he would know whether or not he was free to pursue Malcolm, but some of the memories that had returned were horrific. Harry dreamed of a nebulous being with terrifying eyes and a face like the undead, or sometimes of ice-cold, dark creatures sucking the life-force out of his soul.

"Not all of them, apparently. Shall we have lunch and then continue on?"

Harry shook off his musings and agreed.

They located a nice outdoor cafe and Malcolm nibbled at his leek tart with bacon and Gruyère and Harry devoured his spinach soufflé. They sipped at an unusual drink that tasted like beer lemonade. Harry could not decide if he liked it or not, but it was refreshing, as the weather was warm and somewhat humid.

"You still agree with the plan?" Malcolm asked.

"Of course. We have no idea who I am, so we don't know what sort of reception we will receive when I appear. Going in disguise seems the wisest course."

"Good. The reason I've brought us here is that it's easy to procure Polyjuice Potion. I know of a shop that we can pop into for a vial, although it will cost a pretty penny."

Harry felt alarmed at that. "Isn't there another way? I can't possibly pay you back for all of this."

Malcolm only laughed. "You don't know that. And you may not believe it, based upon my sparse accommodations in Spain, but my family is filthy rich. I can afford a vial of Polyjuice or two. Here, you need to try this. It's delicious." He leaned forward with a bite of leek tart on his fork and Harry imagined he could taste a hint of Malcolm's flavour amongst the pastry and cheese. Effectively silenced, he could only nod and agree.

He worried that he might be falling for Malcolm.

~*~

London was not nice. It was cold and wet. Harry shivered and pulled his thick cloak more closely around his shoulders. His body felt bulky and awkward and the back of his neck was cold. He had grown used to his long hair and missed flipping it out of his eyes with a practised jerk of his head.

He glanced at Malcolm, who looked straight ahead as he marched towards the front of the bank building. Malcolm had no need for a disguise—apparently he had been out of the country for years; he had mentioned that no one would even notice him.

The Polyjuice had made Harry look like Malcolm's bodyguard, a large, muscular man with enormous hands who stood a full head taller than Malcolm.

"Well, is your cock as big as the rest of you?" Malcolm had asked once the Polyjuice had wrought its change.

Harry had blushed, but then he had gamely reached down and palmed his altered crotch. "Feels like it. Want to see?"

Malcolm had laughed. "No, thank you. Your new body is most definitely not my type. Reminds me of Goyle."

"Who?"

Malcolm's smile had fled. "Never mind. Let's get moving. Give me that key."

Harry had handed over the Gringotts key, all the while wondering what Malcolm's "type" would be.

Inside the bank, the goblin at the counter stared at them when Malcolm handed over the key. He said nothing for such a long time that Harry began to sweat. He wondered if they would have to fight their way out. Also, goblins were damn scary. He tried not to stare, but it was difficult.

Finally, the goblin gestured and a door at the side of the room opened to disclose another goblin. "If you will follow Agok, he will escort you." The key was pushed back across the counter to Malcolm, who pocketed it with a swift movement.

"Many thanks," he said.

Harry still felt trepidation, as though something wasn't right, but the vault key was the only clue he had to his identity. He needed whatever it might reveal.

"Vault 639," Agok said as they climbed into the mine cart.

"It's deep," Malcolm murmured as Harry crowded close to him and held tightly to the sides of the cart. "This will take a while."

To Harry's way of thinking, it took no time at all, spiralling at a ridiculous clip downwards and around twists and turns, and even once hurtling a chasm over which there were no tracks. He was utterly relieved when the cart finally stopped.

"I think you can let go now," Malcolm said gently and Harry detached his hand from Malcolm's arm with a wry grimace. He hoped he hadn't left bruises.

The goblin was already marching towards a large vault door. Malcolm tossed him the key and the goblin inserted it before muttering an incantation. Harry stood close to Malcolm as the sound of locking mechanisms freeing rang through the cavern. What if what he discovered within was unpleasant? Might it not be better to start life afresh with a new identity?

Malcolm nudged him with a shoulder. It felt strange to look down at him. "It will be fine. You'll see."

"I wish I had your confidence."

Malcolm snorted and then the door was opening and light brightened inside the chamber. To Harry's surprise, nothing more than a leather satchel occupied the stone room. He let out a breath had hadn't known he'd been holding. "That's it?"

"Well, go get it and let's be off. This bloody place always gives me the creeps."

The goblin gave Malcolm a sharp look, but said nothing. Harry hurried into the chamber, trying not to think of it as a tomb, and snatched up the satchel. He slung it over a shoulder and trotted back out, reaching the mine cart in what might have been record time.

"Ready!" he said and felt immense relief when Malcolm and Agok joined him. The mine cart began to move.

~TBC~


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven - Hurricane**

Draco refused to show it, but he felt quite jumpy. Harry's nervousness had transmitted itself to him and he wasn't sure if it was simply transference or something more. Certainly the goblin did not seem out of the ordinary. He paid them no more mind than on any other visit Draco had paid to the bank.

It probably wasn't the satchel, although Draco had expected something a bit more dramatic, honestly. He'd thought to see the Potter family vault, filled with gold and gleaming with gems and family heirlooms. Instead it was a simple leather rucksack that Draco refused to let Harry open until they reached a safe location and could cast a dozen charms on it.

Frankly, Harry's amnesia seemed more ominous now and Draco had no idea why.

They reached the surface and scrambled out of the mine cart, trying not to look like they were scrambling. Draco led the way into the bank proper with Harry on his heels. Draco wondered how long they had been in the caverns; Harry's Polyjuice would likely start to wear off soon. Draco had taken another nip of his own during the cart ride out. It wouldn't do to lose his Malcolm persona in the bank. His heels rang on the marble floor and then he pushed through the doors and walked into the gloomy Diagon Alley afternoon with a sigh of relief.

"Merlin," Harry muttered next to him. "That was nerve-wracking."

Draco laughed shakily and nodded in agreement.

And then all hell broke loose.

A shout rang out, drawing Draco's attention just in time to see a glowing bolt sizzle and hiss before it slammed into an invisible shield inches in front of Draco. Before he could draw a breath, Harry had grabbed his arm and dragged him into the street at a dead run. Harry might not remember who he was, but his reflexes and magical power were certainly undiminished, luckily for Draco.

Spells shot past them, causing bystanders to scream and dive into doorways and throw themselves to the ground. Harry began to shift and change, shrinking back into himself. His hair lengthened and turned black. Draco nearly breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced back to see who was attacking them. Surely they would stop the moment someone recognised Harry Potter? Scarlet robes with deep hoods obscured their attackers; four of them, if Draco's quick count was accurate.

Harry stopped abruptly, nearly wrenching Draco's arm from his socket, since he hadn't let go. Three robed figures had appeared ahead, blocking their path, but they were not dressed in scarlet; their robes were crimson.

"Oh thank Merlin," Draco muttered. "Aurors."

"_Harry Potter_!" one shouted and lifted his wand. "You are under arrest! Drop your wand and stop where you are!"

Draco gaped, recognising the Auror as one of Potter's friends from Hogwarts. There was no camaradarie in his expression now, nor on the faces of the other three.

"Harry Potter! Flee! We will sacrifice ourselves for you! Long live the cause! Death to the Overlords!"

Draco glanced over his shoulder, astounded to hear the words coming from the scarlet-robed wizards who had tried to kill them moments before. Had the world gone mad?

A bolt shot over their heads and a chunk of masonry rained down upon the Aurors, who scattered. Spells began to fly once more.

"Come on!" Harry yelled, ducking low and running for the mouth of a nearby alleyway. A sticky web appeared before them, springing out of nothingness and filling the entrance, but Harry did not even pause as he slashed it aside with a spell and dove through the cut strands with Draco on his heels.

"Get Potter!" someone screamed.

"We can't Apparate!" Draco cried, beginning to huff with exertion. Salazar, his daily walks along a flat gravel road hadn't prepared him for this. "The bloody Aurors have put up Anti-Disapparition Charms!"

"I know!"

The alley ended abruptly and Draco looked around wildly, trying to place their location. It had been too long since he'd been to Diagon. Things had changed.

"This way!" he said and plucked at Harry's sleeve. Another spell shot towards them and Harry deflected it with a twitch of his wand. Draco wrenched open the door of a clothing shop, one that he knew opened onto both this alley and the one behind it. A woman shrieked and leaped aside when he and Harry raced through; several bolts of cloth spilled from her hands onto the floor.

"Sorry!" Harry called. Draco hoped the mess would trip up the Auror on their heels. He shoved his way out the other door and onto another cobbled street. His frantic stare flitted from one shop front to another.

"There!" Draco cried. "The Endless Knight!" A weathered oak door opened on a seedy pub that had been around since the Dark Ages; the place looked it. When they burst into the place, a grizzled barkeep peered at them from his position behind the bar. He was so stooped with age that he could barely see over the countertop.

"What'll it be, lads?" he rasped.

"We need to use your Floo!" Draco dodged tables and the legs of drunken patrons to reach the large fireplace taking up one wall of the room. Harry followed. Behind them, the door opened and their trailing Auror called out.

"Stop them!"

Fortune finally seemed to smile upon them, for no one in the room moved. Either they were all too drunk or they simply didn't care.

"What'll it be, lad?" the barkeep called to the Auror, who swore loudly.

Draco snatched up a handful of Floo powder while Harry kept his wand drawn upon their pursuer.

"Harry, please. Stop this madness. Come in and tell us what this is all about." The Auror sounded sincere, but Draco was having none of it. He took hold of Harry's arm and backed him to the edge of the fire. They would have to time this exactly right.

"He'll try to stop us the moment we step into the flame," Draco said quietly. "Cast as Shield Charm on the count of three... Two... One." Draco tossed the powder and yelled, "The Leaky Cauldron!" Harry and the Auror cast at the same moment. Draco lunged into the fire and pulled Harry with him.

A flash later and they sprawled onto the floor of the Leaky, limbs tangling and elbows banging.

"Merlin, what's the hurry?" someone asked.

Draco regained his feet first and grabbed Harry's hand. A buzz of voices followed them as Draco shoved past a few patrons and made it to the door in four quick strides. He shouldered through the portal.

Outside, they nearly ploughed into a Muggle and Harry again apologised as the woman shrieked and her male companion yelled, "Oi! Watch where you're steppin' why don'tcha?"

Draco heard the door to the Leaky bang open. Taking a deep breath, he pulled Harry closer and Disapparated. He staggered when they landed and he put out his hands to grasp anything solid and catch his balance. The nearest solid thing was Harry.

"I've got you," Harry said.

"Heh. They'll waste some time sorting those Muggles. Have to corral them up and Obliviate them. Merlin, I'm tired." Draco looked around, hoping they had ended up where he'd planned.

"That was quite a jump."

"A bit farther than I like to Side-along, I'll admit, but I didn't want to chance them finding us. We need to find out what the hell is going on."

"They called me 'Harry Potter.' Did you hear?"

"I heard." They were in what looked to be a small, overgrown garden. A profusion of roses filled the air with a soft fragrance and drew a number of lazily-flying bees. It was a calming sight after the madcap scene they had left behind. He took a steadying breath.

If Draco recalled correctly, the entrance should be just there... He spotted the small iron gate and smiled. "Pity the Polyjuice wore off. I worry about exposing you to anyone that might recognise you now. I think it might be best if you wait here."

A hand caught Draco's and held. "You're leaving me?" The panic in Harry's voice made Draco draw a surprised breath. He turned to look into wide green eyes and felt a twinge of remorse. Harry was really spooked, and well he should be. Draco had thought it would be a silly lark, taking Harry Potter to visit his own Gringotts vault. Of course he couldn't have foreseen such an insane reception, and it was alarming enough for Draco, who knew it was highly unusual. It had to be much worse for Harry, who had even less idea why anyone would be trying to kill him.

"Hey." Draco lifted his other hand and touched Harry's cheek. "I am not leaving you. This is the courtyard of a country inn my parents and I used to visit. We dare not go back to our room near Diagon Alley. The Aurors are sure to backtrack our every movement. Luckily we didn't leave much for them to ransack. I am going to go through this gate and walk round to the front where I shall enter and pay for a room. Then I will return and we will smuggle you into my room without anyone the wiser. All right?"

Harry visibly steadied himself and then covered Draco's hand with his and pushed his cheek more firmly against Draco's palm. It was an oddly touching gesture. "I'm sorry. I'm a little out of sorts."

Draco smiled. "We'll sort you out, Harry. I promise." Impulsively, he leaned in and pressed his lips gently to Harry's. Before he could gauge Harry's reaction—or his own—he turned and pushed through the gate, walking quickly.

Room first, then the contents of Harry's satchel, and then Draco would analyse why he was suddenly making foolish promises and kissing Harry Potter.

~TBC~


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight - Any Port in a Storm**

Harry watched as Malcolm slipped through the gate and was gone. He pushed his tongue out and imagined he could still taste the sweet kiss. He was almost glad that Malcolm had fled because it gave him some time to process his own reaction.

Harry's head pounded with a persistent headache made worse by their mad flight, but the intensity of the pain seemed to diminish as he contemplated the kiss. Malcolm had pulled their bollocks out of the fire back there; maybe he was just expressing his joy at being alive. Or maybe it was more than that. Harry had to admit that his feelings for Malcolm were becoming more than platonic. Even before Paris, Harry had been aware of his growing attraction.

He tightened his hold on the strap of the leather satchel they'd recovered from Gringotts. Hopefully he would find some answers inside and Harry would know whether or not he was free to pursue... whatever it was Malcolm offered.

The wait was excruciating and Harry began to second-guess Malcolm. Perhaps the kiss had been _goodbye_.

He was just about to leave the garden when Malcolm popped up next to him. Harry whipped out his wand and had a curse ready on his lips. Malcolm's eyes widened and he pushed the wand away from his throat with a shaky laugh.

"Merlin, I forgot how bloody quick you are with that thing. It came in handy back in Diagon, however, so you're forgiven. Come on. I've got us a room."

Harry lowered the wand and barely had time to process Malcolm's words before his bicep was gripped and they Apparated into a small bedchamber.

He looked around as Malcolm moved away. The room seemed fairly standard hotel-issue. It contained one large bed with a vague excuse for a headboard nailed to the wall, two small tables flanking the bed, one tall, narrow wardrobe cabinet, and a tiny writing desk with a wooden stool. A small door stood next to the desk.

"Sorry about the bed. I couldn't really explain the need for two beds. I did manage a private bath, though. After all that running, I need a soak." Malcolm opened the door and peered into the small, attached room.

Harry tossed the satchel onto the bed and took two strides to Malcolm. He tugged him around with a hand on his shoulder and then leaned in and kissed him. Malcolm did not pull away.

The kiss was sweet and lasted far longer than the one in the garden. When it ended, Harry's hands were clenched in Malcolm's shirt and Malcolm's hands rested upon Harry's hips, neither pulling him in nor allowing him to escape, but just there. It was somehow comforting.

"What was that for?"

"You tell me. You kissed me first."

"Yes, well, perhaps all that running and danger turned me on."

Harry fought a grin. "I see. Only the running and danger, then? Nothing else?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "It is slightly possible that I find you attractive."

"I find you _very _attractive." Harry pressed another small kiss to Malcolm's lips and then stepped firmly away. "However, I have no idea who I am. I could be married, or live with someone. It's bloody frustrating." He combed a hand through his hair and looked at Malcolm regretfully.

Malcolm only nodded. "There are some things you don't know about me, as well. It would be foolish to get involved at this point."

Harry swallowed, even though the words stung.

"With that said, don't think for a moment that I don't want to toss you onto that bed and shag you until you beg for mercy," Malcolm added.

Harry glanced at the bed, picturing it far too vividly, and then turned back to give Malcolm a speculative stare.

Malcolm held up a hand and stepped away. "Salazar, do not look at me like that. We've just agreed that it's a bad idea."

"A very bad idea," Harry replied in a purring tone with a nod as he followed Malcolm, whose shoulder bumped into the edge of the bathroom doorway. "But snogging is all right, yeah? People snog their best mates all the time."

"Not like—" Malcolm tried but Harry's mouth cut him off. This time Harry allowed his tongue into play and after ten minutes of brilliant, fucking _amazing _kisses, he realised it might have been a bad idea after all. He was hard as granite and Malcolm was a panting mess, hands twisted in Harry's hair and cock rutting, half-hard, against Harry's.

"Snogging is..." Malcolm gasped and tried again. "Snogging is really bloody dangerous, I think."

"Yeah. Might have to keep that to a minimum." He jerked his hips forward once more, closing his eyes at the sensation and at Malcolm's moaned, needy response, and then he shoved himself away forcibly and turned away. He took several deep, unsteady breaths. "Fuck."

"Let's. Ah." Malcolm's voice sounded ragged behind him. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Let's maybe look into that satchel now."

Harry nodded, thankful that Malcolm's voice was just as rough and uneven as his had been. The attraction between them was definitely not one-sided. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to think about unsexy things, about anything other than the gorgeous wizard less than two steps away.

Resolutely, he walked to the bed and pulled the leather bag closer with a frustrated jerk. Although he fumbled with it gamely, the clasp would not turn. Glad of the distraction, he glanced at Malcolm. "I think it's warded."

"Probably identity-specific. Touch it with your wand and cast _Alohomora_. I'll ready a Shield Charm, just in case it's not meant for you."

Harry took a breath and did as Malcolm suggested, holding his breath and preparing for anything. The clasp turned with a metallic click and Malcolm sank down on the other side of the bed. "Must be yours, then."

Inside was a single file folder. Harry took it out and flipped it open. A torn scrap of parchment caught his immediate attention. Written in red ink across it in large letters were two words: BE CAREFUL.

Harry set the admonition aside and looked at the next item, which was a collection of pages bound with a metal clip.

"Who is William Salisbury?" Harry asked, thinking it was a rhetorical question.

"A minor Ministry official," Malcolm replied. "I believe he works in Magical Weights and Measures. Some sort of accounting clerk."

"How do you know that?"

Malcolm blinked at him. "My parents keep a registry of everyone at the Ministry. I had to learn the rosters from a young age, so that I would know how to address them at dinner parties, Quidditch games, or whatever event they happened to drag me to. Or, Merlin forbid, should we run into them on the street or whatnot. It's funny how I still remember them." He looked pensive for a moment. "Then again, he might have changed departments in the past five years. What does it say about him?"

"Nothing. Just his name and then a list of dates and places, going back to..." Harry flipped a few pages. "February. But they are concentrated in June. Nearly the full month is filled in. And hardly anything after."

Malcolm came to stand next to him. Harry was finally too distracted to appreciate his nearness. He had been hoping for some clue to his identity and instead he was handed yet another mystery. His disappointment boiled over and he felt like flinging the file contents across the room.

"Maybe this would have been useful when I knew who I was! I'm sure the former me would have taken this and done something with it. I don't even know who it's from!" Or even the identity of the person that cared enough about him to insert a warning note asking him to be careful.

He flipped through the other pages almost desperately, hoping for some sort of jolt to his memory, but the papers held more of the same—dates and names that meant absolutely nothing to him. The final page contained a strange drawing of something that looked like a roundish urn, covered in bizarre-looking symbols. _Do you know what this is? _was scrawled at the bottom of the page.

Malcolm put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Relax. We'll figure this out. Let me go and get us something to eat and maybe a bottle or two of something alcoholic. Promise me you'll stay here and not rush out in a fit of anger."

Harry looked at him and set the plan aside. He had been considering going back to the bank and demanding answers of anyone in range that might know his true identity.

"I will be right back, Harry. I promise."

Harry nodded. "All right. Maybe I'll have that bath you mentioned. Perhaps if I soak my head it will dredge up some memories."

Malcolm smiled and then turned away. He hesitated.

"Malcolm?

"One kiss before I go? For luck?"

Harry grinned. "You need luck to find us some food?"

"We're on the coast! Do you know how hard it is to find a decent meal?"

Harry laughed aloud and kissed him. He even managed to stop after six or seven and pushed Malcolm out the door before leaning against it with a sigh that might or might not have been a bit lovesick.

~TBC~


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine - Batten Down the Hatches**

Draco left Harry and walked down two flights of stairs to the hotel lobby, feeling a strange blend of giddy and terrified. His heart felt near to bursting, as did his trousers from the pressure of his cock. He'd had to pause on the steps and think of Greg Goyle in a tutu to force his erection into submission. Thankfully, pink wasn't Greg's colour and the image worked admirably. He continued on his way.

The clerk at the desk gave him a polite smile. "Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

"I would like a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. In fact, I would like several back issues, if you have them. I have been out of the country for a long time and feel the need to catch up on affairs."

"Of course, sir. I have the current issue right here and may be able to dredge up a number of others from the back. Mrs Dunstan likes to clip articles, but she might have some issues that are still intact."

"My thanks," Draco said and took the folded paper. He waited while the clerk disappeared through a door. He returned several minutes later with a four-inch stack.

"Here you are, sir. Some of them have bits missing, but it should give you a general idea of the state of things."

"Excellent. I will return them all to you when I've finished."

"Very good, sir."

Draco shrank the lot and then stepped outside to try and locate some suitable foodstuffs. He gnawed his lower lip as he walked. Why had he kissed Harry? Nothing good would come of it. He'd kissed _Harry Potter_. If Draco confessed now that he knew who Harry was, that he'd known his identity all along, Harry would be enraged at his deception. And if he didn't confess, eventually Harry would remember everything and hate him even more.

Even if Draco could coax Harry into returning to Spain with him, the situation would turn out for the worse once he revealed his true identity. Unless he was willing to pretend to be Malcolm Dracaena forever.

No matter how he looked at it he was utterly fucked.

He shook his head, knowing he wouldn't leave Harry now, regardless of how deeply entangled he was becoming. Harry's amnesia was real. Draco had no doubt about that, not now, not after witnessing his behaviour in Diagon Alley. There had been no recognition in Harry's face when seeing the other Aurors, there had been nothing but the frantic need to escape... That and to see Draco to safety. It was sobering, being the sole focus of the Chosen One during a moment of crisis. Draco finally understood the undying loyalty of Harry's friends. It was possible they were faithful simply because Harry had stood by them with unshakeable determination, and he always would. It would be nearly impossible to return such devotion with treachery. Draco knew that now.

And yet, where were Harry's loyal companions? What had changed? The Aurors had been trying to _arrest _him. Had the wizarding world changed so greatly in half a decade?

While he waited for their fish and chips, Draco debated leafing through the old _Prophets _for enlightenment, but in the end he decided that since Malcolm had no idea what was going on, Draco Malfoy shouldn't either. They would learn the truth together. Draco, Malcolm, and Harry.

~*~

"Malcolm?" Harry's voice came through the mostly-shut bathroom door.

"I've brought fish and chips. The chips might be cool enough to eat now. I attempted one on the walk back and I think I scalded three layers of skin from the roof of my mouth."

"Ouch. Want me to kiss it better?"

Draco smiled, warmed by the thought. "Yes. Yes, I certainly do. I also brought a pile of newspapers. Perhaps we can discover why your mere presence sparked a spell-fight in Diagon Alley."

"Hopefully the papers will be more useful than the contents of the satchel." Harry's voice grew louder as he exited it the bathroom wearing a single towel slung around his hips. Draco stared far longer than he should have, and dragged his eyes away from the water droplets and wet skin with effort. He avoided Harry's gaze resolutely, unwilling to see either amusement or invitation there. Either would be hard to ignore.

Thankfully, Harry's attention turned to the food and he popped a chip into his mouth. "Mmm, I'm starved." With his other hand he picked up one of the _Prophets_. "'Manhunt continues for Harry Potter,'" he read aloud.

"Is that today's?"

"No. Last week." He started to read, but Draco took the paper out of his hand and replaced it with the chip packet.

"Eat first. You might lose your appetite otherwise. Somehow I think you'll want to keep your strength up. And then you might put some clothes on."

"Spoilsport." Harry's voice was teasing but his eyes darted back to the paper and Draco could see his desire for Draco took a secondary position to his curiosity. Despite his obvious need to dive into the words, Harry ate at a normal pace and then put his clothing back on after casting a number of Cleaning Charms on the garments.

"Now may we read the papers, Your Worship?"

"Indeed." Draco waved in an imperial fashion. "You take the current ones and I'll start with the oldest. We can work our way in."

"All right."

The first paper Draco read was both enlightening and not. The headline alone had been shocking and the article was worse.

**_The Boy-Who-Lived Wanted For Murder!_ **

_Harry Potter, known worldwide as the defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, is wanted for questioning in the foul murders of several members of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including Reginald Bradford, the Undersecretary to the Minister. Sheer luck seemed to have saved the Minister himself, who had been scheduled to attend the meeting whereat the others met their fates, and yet he was not feeling well that morning and elected to remain home._

Not much is known about the attack, other than the fact that several Ministry officials met at Worthington Abbey for a routine meeting to discuss matters relating to departmental budgets, the controversial Magical Creatures bill, and the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. According to investigative sources, they had just sat down to dinner when the attack began. It is believed they were initially poisoned by the wine or the food, which hints at collusion with the serving staff, many of which have disappeared and are also sought for questioning. Once incapacitated, the attendees were incapable of fending off their assailants.

Undersecretary Reginald Bradford managed to escape the scene through means unknown. He was taken to St Mungo's, severely Splinched, and later died of his wounds, much to the surprise of the St Mungo's staff, who insisted that he was not grievously injured and should have survived. Before succumbing, Bradford spoke only one word: Potter.

Harry Potter has not been seen since the incident and his disappearance does not look good for the former hero. His closest friends (well-known from their roles in the Great War), Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, insist that he has been kidnapped by the real attackers, but anonymous sources indicate that perhaps Potter has gone mad due to the stresses of his youth, and planned the attack in a bid to take over and declare himself Minister—or perhaps the new Dark Lord.

The most telling bit of evidence is the survival of Potter's Auror Partner, Jacob Greene-Meyers. Speculation exists that Potter may have felt too sentimentally attached to Greene-Meyers to murder him, and therefore simply Obliviated him prior to fleeing the scene. Greene-Meyers has no memory of the incident whatsoever, and cannot be reached for comment.

"That's ridiculous!" is Ron Weasley's response to our questioning. But we at the Prophet _ask if it is so ridiculous, then where is Harry Potter?_

Draco sank down on the bed, stunned. He looked at Harry, who frowned at the newspaper in his hand.

"I'm wanted for some sort of murder spree?"

Draco handed him the article he'd read and then scanned the others, which were filled with more insane speculation regarding Harry's alleged descent into madness and murder, and several lurid headlines that announced random Harry sightings.

"This is... This is crazy." Harry turned wide green eyes on Draco. "Do you think I'm a murderer?"

"I think it more likely that the sun would rise in the west," Draco replied dryly.

"And I was an _Auror_? Why would I flee and not try to clear my name? What was I doing in the bloody Mediterranean Sea?"

Good questions both, and ones to which Draco had no answers. He knew who might have answers, however, and suspected the identity of the person that had left Potter the satchel. Of course, he couldn't divulge that information without letting Harry know how he knew.

Draco gnawed his lower lip, wondering if keeping the knowledge from Harry was even important anymore, given the circumstances.

"How do you know it isn't true?" Harry demanded, waving the paper angrily. "How do you know I'm not a murderer? What if I killed all those people like some sort of psychopath? What if I deserve to be locked up? I should turn myself in!"

"Don't be an idiot. Obviously someone out there believes in your innocence or they wouldn't be sending you clues to persons of interest, such as that..." Draco opened the satchel and rifled through the contents. "...William Salisbury person. Frankly, blaming one person for such an elaborate plot seems farfetched and a bit ludicrous. I've also been around you for days and I have no doubt whatsoever that such a scheme is far beyond your mental capacity."

Harry gaped at him as Draco's words sank in, and then a smile teased at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks. I think."

"You are welcome. Now, let's have a look at those names again. I'll try to remember who they bloody well are and then we'll have a go at trying to determine your allies and your enemies. Do you remember anything at all about the incident in question?"

"That one name—Greene-Meyers. It jogged a memory of a man. A stupid memory, because I recall eating ice cream with him. He was laughing at me." Harry smacked himself on the forehead. "Bloody hell, why is it so hard to dredge up anything? And it gives me a fucking headache, to boot."

Draco caught his hand and held it. "Stop. Beating yourself up isn't going to help. There might be potions you can take to improve your memory, but we dare not go to St Mungo's to find out."

Harry drew a long, steadying breath and then let it out on a nod. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's just... I never expected to find myself wanted for murder."

"I know. At least we know why the Aurors are after you. But it brings up another important question. Who were the blokes trying to kill you before the Aurors showed up?"

Harry's eyes widened and Draco smirked.

"Exactly. They are most probably the real culprits. And it's a good bet they're responsible for that blow to your head. Possibly they were trying to finish the job."

"It still doesn't explain why I fled the country. And remember what they yelled? 'Flee and we will sacrifice ourselves for you' and 'Death to the Overlords.' What was that all about?"

Draco shook his head. "They didn't start that shite until the Aurors got there. Before that they were aiming with deadly force."

"Then maybe I should turn myself in."

"You would have done that to begin with if you'd thought it was a good idea."

Harry gnawed his lip, obviously frustrated.

"And maybe I want to keep you to myself for a while longer." Draco's words, softly spoken, were surprisingly true.

Harry looked at him again and then launched himself across the bed to tackle Draco into the pillows. Several urgent, almost-painful kisses later, Draco was again pondering the wisdom of letting himself get too close to Harry. Even so, he couldn't bear to push him away. His fingers skated through Harry's black hair, untangling the wet strands.

"Thank you for believing in me," Harry said while pressing kisses into Draco's jaw, following the line of it from chin to ear. "Can we sleep together now that we know who I am?"

Draco groaned. His cock had a definite opinion about what his answer should be. "We still don't know if you have a girlfriend or boyfriend. Or wife or husband, or whatever."

"The papers would have mentioned it."

_Bloody good point_, Draco thought. There hadn't been any tearful interviews with Ginny Weasley, nor mention of any significant other, only adamant defence statements from the Granger-Weasley contingent. "We only have a few articles. What if we missed the one from your sobbing spouse begging you to come home?"

Harry snorted, but he left off kissing Draco to lay his head upon his shoulder. Draco untangled one hand from Harry's too-long hair. In truth, he rather liked it long. The silky black lengths made Harry look somewhat piratical and wicked, almost like the murderer he was rumoured to be.

"Let's go over these names one more time and then get some sleep. I think I know someone who might be able to help us."

Harry nodded, but he made no attempt to move away. They lay together in silence for a long time and by the time Harry reached for the papers again, Draco knew what he had to do.

~TBC~


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten - Marlinspike**

Harry walked through a dark corridor, breath stuttering in his chest as he tried to walk quietly, but for some reason his footsteps rang upon the stone, sounding like gongs in the cold darkness. His exhalations fogged the air even as he tried to stifle his breathing. He craned his neck looking over his shoulder, although he wasn't certain what he searched for.

He was terrified.

A long, drawn-out hiss came to his ears and he stopped walking to press himself against the stone. A beam of moonlight spilled upon the floor several feet away and Harry recoiled when a massive snake slithered into the light. Harry held his breath, lest the creature see him and attack. He knew without question that the snake was poisonous.

"How nice of you to join us," a sibilant voice said next to Harry and he yelped, nearly jumping out of his skin. Before he could flee, a bony hand clamped onto his wrist. "It is time to make a new potion, Harry Potter."

Harry tried to see the face of the person—thing—that held him, but a deep, hooded cloak covered their features. He looked away and discovered they now stood in a graveyard. A bubbling cauldron stood nearby, with steam rising from its surface. At the sight of it, Harry's forearm thrummed with pain. He jerked away and found that he couldn't move; he was bound to a cold headstone.

A rag was shoved into his mouth, stifling the scream before it could begin. A hooded figure approached with a silver dagger in its fist. Harry recoiled and then—

He jerked awake and thrashed, trying to escape the bonds that held him.

"Harry!"

The name, spoken in a hushed tone thick with worry, steadied him. He focussed and saw Malcolm's face, barely visible in the darkness. Malcolm's hands tightly gripped his arms. Bloody hell, he'd been dreaming. His breath rasped in and out, loud in the darkness.

"There was a... a graveyard. And a cauldron and a snake. I was bound to a headboard and... and..."

"Shhhh. Easy, now. You're safe. It was just a dream. It's okay, I've got you."

Harry clung to Malcolm, but his words were wrong. He'd had dreams before, nebulous visions of flying on a broom, conversations with people he should have recognised, and walks in places he might never have been, but this was different. This had felt like a memory. But how could it have been? Who had memories like that?

"Who am I?" he whispered.

"You're Harry. You're just Harry." Malcolm stroked his hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Harry took comfort in his nearness, in the feel and smell and security that he grown to depend upon.

"What if I've put you in danger?"

Malcolm snorted and Harry could picture his handsome face as clearly as if he were standing in bright light. "I've been in danger before."

"Malcolm—"

"Hush, now. Go back to sleep. We've a few hours yet until dawn. And no more horrid dreams, all right?"

Harry's heartbeat had resumed a more normal staccato and he sighed. He snuggled closer and allowed himself to return to the dark embrace of unconsciousness. Before he succumbed, he sent a thankful burst of appreciation to whatever god, goddess, or friendly spirit that had guided him to Malcolm's doorstep.

~*~

"Paris again?" Harry smiled when he recognised their surroundings. He would always have happy memories of Paris, thanks to Malcolm. Not that he had any unhappy memories to counter them.

"Yes, and the man we are going to meet is not necessarily trustworthy, so we shall both have to be very careful."

"Then why are we going to see him?"

"He has connections."

They walked for some distance, until Harry grew bored enough to whistle, and then Malcolm cut that short with an unamused glare. Finally they reached a shop labelled _Fabuleux_.

Harry stopped short. "It's a clothing shop."

"Which reminds me that you could use some new garments."

"What? My clothes are fine."

"You shouldn't really even _be _in Paris in those rags. Come on."

Harry pouted, but he followed Malcolm into the shop. It was dimly lit, with overhead lights highlighting bright pops of racked clothing. Their footsteps echoed on the wooden floor and Harry suddenly felt as underdressed as Malcolm had suggested. The place smelled expensive.

A diminutive woman pattered towards them and spoke in French. Malcolm replied in the same language. If Harry had ever known how to speak it, he'd forgotten. It all sounded like musical gibberish to him, except that the dulcet tones tripping from Malcolm's tongue were like aural seduction. Harry coughed and busied himself looking at a selection of folded shirts. They all looked identical except for a slight variation in colours.

The woman walked away with her heels clicking loudly on the floor. Malcolm turned back to Harry. "Do you mind waiting out here while I talk to him? I want to be certain where his loyalty lies before exposing you."

"Where should his loyalty lie?"

Malcolm smiled. "With himself, as it always has. I want to ascertain that hasn't changed."

"All right."

Malcolm disappeared into the back and the woman reappeared. She began to straighten garments on a display near him and he wondered if she thought he might steal something. His wan smile disappeared when he remembered he might be a murderer. Perhaps he was a thief, as well.

She moved closer and spoke to him in French, but he gave her a grimace and shook his head. She sighed heavily.

"Vould you like to look at zom trouzairs?" She looked at his jeans and wrinkled her nose. "Moggle items. So unattracteev."

Harry glanced down at his jeans, which had definitely seen better days, but they were well-worn and comfortable. His gaze slid to the doorway where Malcolm had disappeared, remembering his disparaging words.

"Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to try on something," he admitted. He couldn't pay for it now, of course, having no idea the state of his finances. He didn't even know where he lived. But perhaps he could have them set something aside and return for it once his memory recuperated.

She beamed and clapped her hands. "Right zees way. I 'ave just zee items."

Five minutes later, Harry's arms were piled high with garments and he was being shoved into a dressing room. For a tiny woman, she was quite pushy.

He hung up most of the clothing on the provided hooks and then tried on the trousers he liked best. Even the dressing room was dimly lit and Harry turned one way and then the other trying to determine how they looked.

"Vell?" the woman called from the other side of the curtain.

Harry sighed and walked out. She gave a low whistle and then waved her wand at a set of mirrors nearby. Lights sprang up around them and Harry walked over to view himself in the reflective glow. The trousers looked quite nice, hugging him in ways that his jeans hadn't. They were a deep, rich blue, so dark as to look almost black.

"Zees shirt and tunic." The woman handed him two more items and crossed her arms. "No need to hide. I 'ave zeen a man before."

Ignoring his need for modesty, Harry shrugged out of his t-shirt and put on the white silk shirt. It hugged him more tightly than the trousers and seemed to outline every muscle he possessed. His nipples were plainly visible.

"Merde," she breathed. Before Harry could pull the second skin off, she pushed the tunic over his head. Paired with the tight shirt, he had to admit it looked quite nice. The tunic was chocolate brown with edges embroidered in a repeating pattern of white thread. It possessed a high collar that opened to reveal the hollow of Harry's throat, and continued in a V to just below his breastbone, exposing the white shirt beneath.

The hem stopped just below his waistband and he turned to get a look at his backside, impressed.

"Merlin, you are keeping that. Francesca, you are a genius. Put that entire outfit on my tab." Malcolm's voice was appreciative and Harry met his eyes in the mirror.

"I can't let you buy this for me."

"You can and you will."

"I am zorry, _monsieur_, but I do not know your name."

Malcolm blinked at her and then nodded. "Right. Blaise, however, does. I will let him know. Come, Harry, Blaise would like to see you in order to decide for himself whether or not I have gone mad."

Harry tried to detour to the changing room to retrieve his jeans, but Malcolm grabbed his wrist and sent a flippant, "Francesca, please have Harry's old clothing burned."

"Vith plea-zair," she said as Malcolm dragged him away.

"Honestly, they were not that bad."

"They were that bad. You look delectable, Harry. In fact, keep a close eye on Blaise. He is rather indiscriminately bisexual and seems to believe it is his sworn duty to sleep with everyone that breathes."

Harry frowned. "Did he ever sleep with you?" Malcolm gave him an enigmatic look and Harry tugged at his forehead and looked away. "Sorry. That was too personal and none of my business."

Malcolm halted just before the door that led to the back. His grip on Harry's wrist relaxed and then slid down to take his hand. "Harry. I would like it to be your business. But first we need information so that we can put this ridiculousness behind us and clear your name." Malcolm took a breath and closed his eyes. He seemed tormented and Harry stepped closer, squeezing his hand.

"Malcolm—"

"Harry. There is something I need to tell you. I probably should have told you before, but I always thought there would be a better time. You see, I am—"

The door jerked open to reveal a long hallway and a man who smirked at Malcolm for only a moment before turning his gaze to Harry. He studied him for long seconds and then dropped his stare to their joined hands. An eyebrow cocked at Malcolm and then he turned and beckoned imperiously.

"This way. Unless you prefer to whisper outside of my door for a while longer."

Whatever Malcolm meant to say, the moment had obviously passed. He gave Harry a tight smile and released his hand to stride after Blaise. Harry studied the man as they traversed the hallway. He was lithe, just a bit shorter than Harry, and had an interesting walk that was almost a sashay. Harry dragged his eyes away from Blaise's swaying arse lest Malcolm think he was interested. Because he most certainly wasn't.

"Interesting artwork," Harry croaked almost desperately as they passed a framed painting of what appeared to be pink and black smears.

Malcolm scoffed. "What Blaise knows about art could fit in a moth's footprint. He was probably shagging the artist and got the paintings in exchange for a blowjob."

"I heard that." Blaise's singsong carried back and then he opened the door at the end of the hall and held it for them.

Harry entered the room and found a cosy looking office with an enormous black desk and one bank of windows looking directly out on the Eiffel Tower. Before Harry could comment, Blaise walked around the desk and sat down in a large leather chair.

"So. Harry Potter. What brings you to Paris?"

"Knock it off, Blaise," Malcolm said and dropped into one of the comfortable-looking chairs that faced the desk. Harry took the other.

"'Knock it off,' he says. You bring Potter _here_, to my shop, in broad daylight and tell me to knock it off. I should hex you both and send Potter straight to the Ministry."

"You won't."

Despite his words, Malcolm sounded worried. Harry touched the long pocket on the tunic he wore, glad he'd tucked his wand into it as soon as Francesca had pulled it into place, although he preferred it to be in his hand.

"Why shouldn't I? What's in it for me?"

"For one thing, Potter would owe you a favour."

Harry nearly rolled his eyes. Why would that matter? He was no one. Blaise, however, sat forward and stared at him intently, as though attempting to peer into the future and determine what Harry could do for him.

"Blaise, just tell us what's going on."

"Have you completely lost your facilities, Draco? Surely you haven't been taken in by this ludicrous _amnesia _business?"

"_Blaise_."

"Honestly. Pretending to be some lunatic hermit living on the coast of Spain was fine whilst you were simply brooding and feeling sorry for yourself, but to continue it to the detriment of your very existence—"

Malcolm shot to his feet and towered over Blaise, who simply looked up at him without moving. "_Blaise, shut it_."

Blaise shrugged. "It's your funeral, darling. But I'm not giving up one iota of information for less than fifty thousand Galleons."

"Done."

Harry wanted to jump to his feet and escape. There were too many things happening that he didn't understand, and Malcolm was taking on too much for Harry's sake. And something about Blaise was giving Harry a pounding headache and things that he'd said were ringing in Harry's ears like a church bell.

"Stop!" Harry cried sharply.

Both pairs of eyes turned to him.

"Malcolm. You can't. I won't let you take on such a debt for me."

"_Malcolm_," Blaise repeated. "Bloody hell, tell him the truth."

"For Salazar's sake, Blaise—"

"No, not for his sake, for _mine_. I'll be damned if I subscribe to this endeavour and then have Potter bail the moment you reveal yourself. I could lose everything I've built here. If Potter doesn't remember you, as you say he doesn't, then it won't matter anyway, will it? I want proof that Potter won't turn me over to one side or the other because you coerced him 'under duress' by pretending to be his lover and not some former Death Ea—"

"Fine!" Malcolm yelled and then took a deep breath and spoke more quietly. "Fine. We'll do it your way."

Blaise leaned back in his chair. "It's better this way. You'll see. Everything out in the open or you can find another source. Do you know how much they would pay me right now for Potter's whereabouts?"

"Obviously I do not," Malcolm growled.

Harry had produced his wand and held it tightly in his hand, ready to snatch Malcolm and Disapparate at a moment's notice. He was dying to ask questions, but already he felt on uneven footing with Blaise, who obviously knew precisely who he was and what he was on the run from.

Malcolm sank down into his chair and then faced Harry. His features were stiff and resolute. "Harry. There is something you need to know. Blaise is right about that. I was trying to tell you before he _forced me into it_." He shot a glare at Blaise. "But please understand that nothing has changed between us. I need you to trust me."

Blaise snorted at that and Harry, confused, nodded.

"In about ten minutes, you're going to learn that I am not who you think I am." Malcolm reached out and took Harry's hands, holding one tightly and gripping the other around Harry's wand, holding loosely so as not to impede any spells Harry might want to cast. Harry noticed the difference, and appreciated it, even though he was thoroughly confused. "You see, I've been drinking Polyjuice since I met you."

Harry nearly shook Malcolm off and shot to his feet. He stared, pulse skyrocketing as his instincts screamed, _Danger! Danger! _but he got hold of them and forced himself not to move. This was _Malcolm_, who had risked his life for him. The man had accompanied him to Gringotts and taken him to safety when they were in danger. Malcolm believed in him and soothed him after nightmares. Malcolm was...

Malcolm was the man Harry had fallen in love with.

"Polyjuice," Harry repeated woodenly. His hands were sweaty and slick in Malcolm's grip. "_Why_?"

Malcolm scooted closer, until their knees pressed together tightly. Harry fought the urge to flee. What if Malcolm looked nothing like he did now? What if he were... Oh Merlin, what if he were hideous and unattractive? Harry cringed at the thought that he could be so shallow, but the seed had taken root and Harry was petrified that he'd fallen for Malcolm only because of the pretty package.

_I am a bad person_, Harry thought. _Perhaps I am also a murderer and deserve to go to...to that prison...place._

Trying to recall the name of the prison thankfully occupied him for several minutes—he could picture the damned thing, perched on an island of rock in the middle of the sea—why the fuck could he not recall the name? Alaban? Alchemy? Something that began with a bloody A.

"My name is Draco Malfoy."

The statement thoroughly distracted Harry from thinking about the prison. Oddly, the name brought up even more images than the prison. Harry remembered... _fire_.

And water. And then fire again, fire everywhere. Tears in a bathroom and a slash of deadly magic.

"_Sectumsempra_," Harry murmured.

"Oh Salazar." Malcolm's grip was like a vice. Harry wanted to pull away. He wanted to hold on and not let go. Malcolm closed his eyes and sat motionless.

Harry fought a growing headache and tried to remember. White-blond hair, a perpetual sneer, a glare from a broom as they raced side-by-side through the sky. A death-pale face that stared at him in a room filled with tension. Shouted, glass-sharp words. "_Is that Harry Potter?" "I don't know!"_

The memories were coming faster now, as if he'd cracked a cauldron and unleashed an unstoppable spill. As Malcolm's features slowly melted away, becoming pointier and paler, each recollection felt like a bludgeon. Harry saw Malfoy sneering at a hippogriff, sitting at a long table dressed in green and silver, shoving past him on the way to a long staircase, fists clenched and face contorted in a train car, standing with two bigger boys in a room about to erupt into flames...

Harry pulled his hands away with a sharp cry. _Oh god. Oh god, oh god. _Hermione. And _Ron_. How could he have forgotten them? The pain was nearly unbearable. He retreated, pushing the memories away as he shoved the chair across the room and staggered to his feet, fighting them in order to regain some sense of self. He was drowning in who he used to be.

"Get him a drink! Firewhiskey!" The voice was Malcolm's, and yet not. It was harsher and colder. Draco Malfoy's voice. Harry felt hysterical laughter threatening to bubble up from his chest.

"Draco Malfoy hates me," he whispered.

Fingers grasped his shoulders, squeezed tightly, and then shook him gently. "_No, Harry. _No, I don't. Not anymore, and I haven't for a long time."

"Here, Potter. Steady on." A glass brushed his hand and he took it. He drained the contents in one gulp and then fell into a coughing fit as his windpipe burned and tried to pull oxygen through the fumes.

"Blaise, give us a minute alone." Malcolm's—no, _Malfoy's_—voice sharpened. "Damn it, you forced this, now give me a bloody minute!"

Blaise sighed. "Fine. I'll go make certain Francesca hasn't gone out for cappuccino again and left the front unattended. Be right back."

When the door closed, Draco's grip tightened and Harry noted that he'd never let go. "Harry, listen to me. I know you don't have any reason to trust me, but everything we've been through in the past few days, well, it wasn't some act. The body might not have been mine, but everything else was. _Everything else was_. Do you understand?"

Harry lifted his eyes and finally looked at the man he'd awakened tangled around just that morning, who'd soothed his demons and kissed his lips and smoothed the hair back from his face. The one who had made him feel safe. And wanted.

"How can I trust you? I don't know what to believe. I don't even know who I am."

Draco nodded and removed his hands from Harry's shoulders. "I understand. Do you want me to take you to someone else? To one of your old friends? They'll probably be more help than I've been."

He looked away as he spoke and Harry noticed that he was actually handsomer than Malcolm. His hair was paler, softer-looking, and his features more delicate. His lashes were golden and ridiculously long. Harry wondered if kissing him would taste any different, and forced the thought away.

Part of him was hurt and angry at Malcolm—Draco's—betrayal. Another part could not help but wonder why Draco had helped him at all. Had he been in on the murders? Was it his job to keep an eye on Harry, or worse, to bring him to one side or the other?

Harry bit his lip until his teeth threatened to puncture through. Then Draco's words penetrated. "Hey! You know who I am. _You've always known_." It was accusatory.

Draco nodded, attention fixed on the scenery out the window. "I know who you are. At first I thought you were faking in some bizarre ploy to bring me back to England, although I couldn't understand why. And by the time I figured out you really couldn't remember... It was too late. You might have left in a panic and I did not want that to happen."

"Why not?"

"Because you needed me! For the first time ever. Salazar, it might have been the first time anyone had ever needed me, at least for anything that actually meant something. It was... It was nice."

Harry's heart twisted. Draco sounded sincere, and wounded. Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He needed help and he had no idea if his old friends were still allies. Everything was muddled. Although he recalled odd scenes of Ron and Hermione, he could not remember anything current. The alleged murder scenario was not even vaguely accessible.

"Why do I think of fire when I look at you?"

Draco blanched, his fair skin turning ashy-pale. Harry regretted asking. "You pulled me out of a burning room once. Saved my life. Thanks for that, by the way. I should have told you that quite a lot sooner. Thank you, I mean. I guess I thought running away would be easier."

"I..." Harry had no idea what to say to that. He could remember fire, and heat, and arms around his waist threatening to squeeze him in half. "I doubt you ran away because of me."

Draco gave him a glance and a wry grin, so familiar that it gave Harry another wrench. "Well, you could be right. But it was at least partly because of you."

"I'll accept that." Harry smiled and for a moment wondered if it really had been Draco beneath the Malcolm facade. A ray of hope flared, but he shoved it aside. He couldn't afford sentimentality if he wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery that surrounded him. "I think we should carry on with whatever you had planned. You know, get the information from Blaise, since he seems to know what's going on."

Draco's eyes lifted to meet his directly. They were striking in a completely different way than Malcolm's had been. "You do?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, but you have to know that things have changed."

"No more snogging?" Draco asked and his lips twitched into a pout while his eyes looked like huge, sad pools. Harry tore his eyes away and pushed aside the need to lean closer and discover just what the differences were between kissing Draco and kissing Malcolm.

_It wasn't some act_, he'd said. Harry only wished he could be sure of that.

"No more snogging," he said firmly.

To his surprise, Draco's pout turned into a sultry-looking smirk. Harry thought he might have to flee the room to escape the sudden barrage of sex appeal. "All right," Draco replied, leaning closer, and then he added, "For now."

The door opened and Blaise breezed back into the room. "Are we done with the tears and apologies? If so, I would like to get down to business. Are my terms acceptable?"

"Fifty thousand Galleons?" Draco asked. "Quite."

"Mal—Draco, it's too much."

"It's fine, Harry." Draco reached over and squeezed his hand absently before retaking his seat. "Now, tell us what you know, Blaise."

"You know what he's accused of, I assume?" Blaise said and glanced Harry's way.

"Yes. We've read the newspaper reports."

Blaise pulled out his wand and Summoned a file folder from a nearby cabinet. "Here is the official Auror report. It looks bad for Potter, mostly because there were no witnesses left alive, except for Potter's witless Auror partner, and he was Obliviated."

"Surely they can't believe that Harry committed murder?"

Blaise shrugged. "Many people don't believe it, but Potter's disappearance looks bad. There is a large betting pool in London based on when he will turn up, with odds on his guilt or innocence. There are also conspiracy theories stating he's been kidnapped or Imperiused." Blaise chuckled. "I'll bet none of them listed amnesia as a viable option."

"So Harry is a suspect mainly because he disappeared. We don't know why he did that, or how he turned up in the Mediterranean, so it's possible he _was _kidnapped and escaped."

"It's no concern of mine whether you're innocent or went on a killing spree, Potter. But I know that there were others involved. Namely, William Salisbury and his cohorts."

"The Weights and Measures guy?"

"Yes. The Head of Budgeting and Forecasting. Obviously, he got tired of his menial role and wants something more."

"But why?"

Blaise looked at him as though he were a bit simple. "Potter, I realise as the Saviour of the World that it's difficult to grasp that other people aspire to be something more, but it does happen to those of us not born under a lucky star."

"Blaise, stop being an arse. We all know how 'lucky' that star turned out to be, so give the envy a rest and tell us where to find this Salisbury character and how deeply he's involved."

"When did you turn into Potter's biggest fan, Draco? Is he that good in the sack?"

Harry's fist clenched, but Draco's wand was in his hand and he leaned over the desk. The wand tip quivered before Blaise's throat, but to his credit Blaise never even flinched. He raised a perfect brow. Draco's taut body relaxed and he lowered the wand. "Bloody hell, I sometimes forget how fucking annoying you are. Can you stop being a prick and give us some useful information?"

Draco sank back into his chair as Blaise shrugged. "I think the Spanish heat must have cooked your brain. You're no fun anymore. But fine. Salisbury has arranged a meeting near Kilkenny, Ireland, next Tuesday. Rumour has it they plan to discuss Phase Two of their plan."

"Which is?"

"The Ministry, of course. Salisbury wants to be Minister. He is rather low on the food chain—or at least he was until most of the upper echelon was killed—and now if the Minister dies he will be quite a lot closer. All of the speech-making and press releases he's engaged in recently might make that an even larger possibility. For someone who spent most of his life plunking around with weights and measures, he has suddenly become quite motivated."

"Is he the ringleader?" Draco asked.

"Who knows? He certainly has the most to gain. Most of the others had seconds that have already moved into the chief positions, but only a few of them have been linked—by me—to Salisbury and his machinations. Strangely, the Magical Creatures Equality Bill seems to have been the catalyst for all of this nonsense."

"I read about that in Spain. Pansy blathered on about it when she visited. They are calling for equal rights for Magical Creatures, yes? Werewolves and vampires and their ilk?"

"And house-elves. That's the big one. Anyone still opposed to freeing their little home-slaves is opposed to the bill in a big way."

"Salisbury is Muggle-born."

"And yet he opposes the bill. Curious, isn't it? He doesn't even have house-elves."

"What is his reason for opposing it, then?"

"'Wizarding tradition' and the 'potential for rebellion' and the 'infrastructure falling to pieces.' That sort of thing. The purebloods are eating it up and calling for Shacklebolt to resign so that Salisbury can take up the reins. It's a bit mad, really. Some people might even excuse the murders if it can get Shacklebolt out and Salisbury in. Shacklebolt is pushing for the Wizengamot to ratify the bill, of course. He's a bloody bleeding heart."

Draco shook his head. "There is no way that bill will fail. Too many people are pro-Shacklebolt and anti-Dark Lord for it to meet defeat. Especially with Granger and her house-elf rights lobbying. I heard about that all the way in bloody Spain, although mainly due to Pansy and my mother ranting about it."

"And quite rightly!" Blaise huffed. "Honestly, if it passes we'll have to free the buggers and _pay _them. It boggles the mind. And with that said, it's understandable that Salisbury's group found it necessary to kill off the opposition. Publicly, however, the effort seems to have backfired. Public support for the bill is stronger than ever due to the sympathy aspect, but Salisbury has been spewing plenty of platitudes and holding vigils for the dead, as well as calling for justice for the victims. He's become quite the public speaker."

"Curious, considering he seemed perfectly happy to work in accounting for the rest of his days when I met him. Dull man."  
"No longer. He seems to have found some motivation. Power, perhaps?"

"Could be. Is Mrs Salisbury still around?"

"If she is, I haven't seen her. Salisbury never divorced, if that's what you're asking, but he seems to be guarding his private life closely, a wise move if he is involved in this whole murder scheme, which seems likely. Best to keep the wife and kiddies out of danger when dealing with thieves and murderers."

"He has children?" Harry asked, appalled. For some reason it was easier to think of a murderer as an evil figure living alone, bitter and miserable. He supposed that was a silly idea.

"A daughter, from what I recall. Not quite old enough for Hogwarts."

"How did you find out about this meeting?" Draco asked.

"The more people involved, the easier it is for information to dribble through the cracks, dearest. Two of the blokes on your list happen to be on my payroll. They haven't spilled enough to give me sufficient ammunition to use against them, but both of them mentioned the meeting to me as an insurance policy. Neither of them wants to be played for a fool should the deal go sour, and they want to ascertain that Salisbury takes the fall and not them."

"No honour amongst thieves." Harry dredged the platitude from somewhere in his memory.

"No reward without risk," Blaise countered. "But a wise man doesn't risk without insurance."

"And that's where you come in."

Blaise grinned at Draco. "Information is my business. Well, that and providing quality clothing to those in need." He nodded at Harry's garments. "Are you paying for those, Draco, or shall I owl Potter's account?"

"Don't be stupid, you know they'll have a lock on his Gringotts vault. You'll have the Aurors here in five minutes flat."

"I'll just put it on your tab, then."

"You do that. Harry, I think we should be going now."

"Feel free to drop by anytime, Potter. My spring line will be here in a few weeks and we have some pieces that will have Draco panting after you like—-"

"That's more than enough, Blaise, thank you." Draco shot him a pained look as he stood. Harry rose, more than happy to escape Blaise's irritating presence. He had been helpful, but Harry couldn't help but feel uneasy. He suspected Blaise knew much more than he had let on.

Blaise rose and accompanied them to the door. "I'll see you out. Lovely to see you again, Draco. Enjoy your time in Paris, won't you?"

"I'm sure I will, Blaise. By the way—_Obliviate_!"

Harry gasped as Blaise stiffened and his handsome features went slack.

"What are you doing?"

"We can't trust him. He was stupid to trust me—obviously he thought my self-imposed isolation, and possibly coming here with you—has made me soft. He always was too arrogant for his own good. Blaise, we were never here. You have been feeling ill all day, probably due to something you ate, and you fell asleep in your chair. You should probably go home and rest."

Blaise nodded and walked back to sit in his chair. Draco spelled the file back into the drawer from whence Blaise had Summoned it, and then cleaned the glass and returned it to the cabinet.

"When we walk out of here, you will rest your head on your desk for approximately fifteen minutes. You won't remember seeing us today at all. Understood?"

"Yes." Blaise's voice was wooden and dreamy.

"Excellent. Out you go, Harry."

Harry opened the door and walked quickly down the long hallway. He stopped short when the door closed behind Draco. "Merlin, what about Francesca?"

"I'll have to Obliviate her, too. It's a pity, but necessary. Blaise would have sold us out in a heartbeat, or at least let them know that I am with you. He probably wouldn't have mentioned that we know about the meeting, but he would have no qualms about letting the Aurors learn about me. They would be hammering on Mother's door within minutes. I would prefer to avoid that."

Harry heard that and felt a small flash of relief. He had thought Draco didn't want to be associated with him and the trouble he was currently in, but to learn that Draco merely wanted to protect his mother… Bloody hell, he didn't know what to think. His jumbled memories of Draco Malfoy were far from pleasant, and conflicted horribly with his recent memories of Malcolm.  
Francesca stared at them when they exited the door. "Draco?" she asked in obvious surprise, taking in Draco's altered appearance.

"Sorry about this, Francesca. _Obliviate_!"

Draco pulled the same routine on her, although speaking in French, which Harry found interesting. Would it work as well if he'd spoken in English? Were there nuances in the instruction process that could be missed? Despite his curiosity, he couldn't help but feel it was wrong to muddle with people's memories, especially when he knew first-hand how terrifying it was to lose them.  
"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked, although when he thought of the spell itself, Harry suddenly knew that he could have cast it himself, if needed. It was a difficult hex, but he had apparently been trained to use it. _I'm an Auror_, he recalled from the newspaper articles. _Or I was_.

"Oh, during that lovely period when the Dark Lord lived in my house. He was always having us practice curses on one another. Unforgiveables, usually, since he was particularly fond of the Cruciatus, but also lesser hexes such as _Obliviate _and _Confringo _and _Deletrius_. There is nothing like setting someone on fire and then healing them and removing their memory of it. Fun times." His tone was flat and Harry felt a sharp stab of sympathy. Bloody hell, some Dark Lord had lived in Draco's house?

Thinking of a Dark Lord gave Harry a sudden, terrifying image of the snakelike face from his not-dream, so he shoved it away forcibly. That was a memory he knew he didn't want to relive.

With the less-than-ethical deeds completed, they departed Blaise's shop and returned by a circuitous route to the inn they had previously occupied. Harry was full of questions but most of them had no answers, so he declined supper, took a long shower, and went to bed.

Draco stayed awake, sitting on the stool and reading through the papers again. The silence was awkward before Harry fell asleep, but he didn't quite know how to fix it.

~TBC~


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven - Aurora Borealis**

Draco waited until Harry was asleep, sitting at the tiny desk and reading the list of names over and over until he had them all memorised. Once Harry's breathing became deep and even, he pulled on his hooded cloak and Apparated to a street outside the Ministry. The access had changed a number of times over the years, and Draco hoped it hadn't changed since his last visit. The ridiculous toilet-entry system instigated during Voldemort's reign had been replaced with an amazing system known simply as a _door _that had been marked with an EMPLOYEES ONLY sign. The door was still there and Draco walked through it without actually turning the handle, and ended up in the Atrium. He thought about bypassing the check-in desk altogether, but that would likely cause more problems than it would solve. He approached the desk and placed his wand on the appropriate spot.

"Malcolm Dracaena," he announced, lest the magic inherent in the badge machine discern his real identity and mission. "Here to pick up some papers for Hampton and Wembley, Solicitors."

The bored-looking witch barely gave him a glance. She did not look at the badge at all as she handed it to him, as her attention was fixed on an open book lying atop her desk. "Do you need directions?" she asked around a yawn. Her chin was propped on a hand adorned with multiple rings.

"No, thank you." He glanced at the badge and frowned when he read _Draco Malfoy, Clandestine Meeting_. Honestly, it was a wonder no one paid more attention to the bloody badges; the Aurors should have someone permanently stationed at the lifts to check the damned things. As it was, he gratefully shoved it into a pocket and took the lift to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He felt like he was walking into a lion's den as he approached Auror Territory, even though it was after hours.  
Draco had expected her to be gone, although he'd acknowledged the possibility of her working late. Luck was with him, for once, when he saw her light on. He tapped on the doorframe, startling her.

"Ms Granger?" he asked, hoping she hadn't married the Weasel and changed her name, but the papers he'd read hadn't mentioned it.

"Yes?" He noticed her right hand was beneath the desk, probably holding her wand with a hex ready. At least she was careful, he had to admit.

"My name is Malcolm Dracaena and I'm here to pick up some papers for Solicitor Wembley. I believe he sent word earlier?" As he spoke, he moved quickly into the office and placed a slip of parchment on her desk.

"I'm sorry, I don't…" She trailed off and her eyes widened as she read the words he'd written: _Your office is likely monitored so do not speak aloud. I know where Harry Potter is._

Her mouth moved into an O of surprise but she recovered almost instantly. "Oh yes. _Those _papers. They are very old and delicate and I could not risk transporting them by owl. Thank you for coming in on such short notice."

_What have you done with him? _she scribbled.

_I haven't done anything with him! I'm on his side._

She glared at him. He wrote another note.

_I believe you are trying to help him. You don't believe he committed the murders, do you?_

She stared at him and rustled papers loudly. "I thought they were right here. Where did I put that file? I'm so sorry. I am usually more organised."

_Harry needs to come in and give himself up so that the investigation can proceed accordingly. He has only made things difficult for himself by running away._

Draco bit his lip. She wasn't making it easy on him. He suspected that she had sent the satchel, but he couldn't be sure. What if she actually believed that Harry needed to turn himself in?

He took a chance and pulled a small slip of paper from his pocket. He had taken it from the satchel back at the inn. It read **_BE CAREFUL_. **

Her eyes widened and she looked suddenly frantic. "I know the file was here earlier." Her voice was strident and she took a deep breath. "You know, I might have taken it home by mistake. Do you mind accompanying me? It isn't far and then you'll have it and can be on your way."

_We can talk freely there_, she wrote and then incinerated the parchment they'd written upon. Draco nodded, knowing full well that he'd be at her mercy in her home with no one the wiser, but her reaction to the note placated him. She had sent the list of names to Harry.

She rounded the desk and leaned close. "Is he all right?" she whispered.

"He's fine. I left him sleeping."

She locked her office with a flick of her wand and then marched down the hallway so quickly that Draco had to lengthen his stride to keep up. They entered the lift without incident and reached the Atrium. Just as Draco thought they would make it without being accosted, his hope died a swift death when an Auror crossed the space at a rapid clip.

"Hermione! Fancy meeting you here so late."

Granger covered any impatience with a smooth smile. "Jacob! How nice to see you. Unfortunately, I've got to run. I left some papers back at my house that Mr Dracaena needs immediately."

"Oh?" The man turned piercing blue eyes on Draco and put out a hand. "Hello, I am Jacob Greene-Meyers."

"_Auror _Greene-Meyers," Granger added.

Draco pasted on a false smile and shook Greene-Meyers' hand, suddenly recalling the name. Harry's Auror partner, the one who had survived the attack, albeit Obliviated. "Malcolm Dracaena. No one special, I'm afraid."

"Certainly that isn't true. Although I've never seen you around the Ministry before."

"Jacob, behave. Not everyone who visits the Ministry needs Auror grilling."

Greene-Meyers' lips thinned. "I might disagree with you, Hermione, at least until we find Harry. You don't happen to know Harry, do you?"

"I know a surprising number of Harrys, actually. Could you be more specific?"

Greene-Meyers glared. "Harry Potter, obviously. You know, the man that has been missing since the brutal attack on several Ministry department heads. The man currently being callously framed for the crime since he has vanished? That Harry?"

"Jacob! That is uncalled for!"

Greene-Meyers glanced at Granger apologetically. He tipped his head at Draco, but he did not look especially contrite.

"I am...sorry, but, no. I do not know Harry Potter. I am just a legal courier."

"I apologise. I'm upset by Harry's disappearance and terribly worried for him. Please forgive me."

Draco nodded and glanced at Granger. He hoped she would concoct some way to be rid of Greene-Meyers before Draco's Polyjuice wore off.

"What firm do you work for?"

"That's enough, Jacob. Go home and get some sleep. You've been working yourself ragged. Mr Dracaena, if you'll wait here for one moment, I'll pop through and set the Floo to allow you, and then come back for you. I've got the security set a bit tight these days."

Draco nodded. With one more uncertain glance at Greene-Meyers, she turned and walked to the nearest fireplace, picked up a handful of powder and yelled, "Home!"

Draco hated to see her go. He strode a few steps closer to the fireplace she'd departed from, hoping to shake his Auror dog, but with no such luck.

"I'll keep you company," Greene-Meyers said with false pleasantry. He was tenacious, Draco had to admit.

Before Greene-Meyers could ask any probing questions, Draco said with false enthusiasm, "An Auror! How exciting! And you get to wear such brilliant uniforms." He gave Greene-Meyers and appraising stare and then intentionally licked his lips. The man wasn't bad-looking, actually. He was slender and fit with cropped brown hair that stuck up in an attractive muss. His eyes completed the package, all bright and intense; they widened slightly as he picked up on Draco's implication. Draco wondered suddenly if Harry and Greene-Meyers had been involved. "Is there a Mrs Greene-Meyers, by chance?"

"No, there isn't." Greene-Meyers flushed and then stammered, "But there is a potential missus. I mean a girlfriend. I have a girlfriend!"

Draco nodded and released a theatrical sigh. "Pity. Should you ever decide to _ride the broom_, as they say, please don't hesitate to look me up." He gave the man another sweeping visual caress just as Granger popped back out of the fire.

"Merlin, I'm sorry. My cat was—never mind. Ready, Mr Dracaena?"

"Indeed. It was a definitely pleasure to meet you, Auror Greene-Meyers."

"Yeah, same. Goodnight, Mr Dracaena."

Draco looked around as soon as they stepped into Granger's place. It was cluttered almost to the point of unliveability, although most of the detritus consisted of books and papers. Granger hurriedly scooped up a scrap of lacy fabric and hid it behind her back. Draco suppressed a shudder, having no interest in learning what sort of lingerie it was, nor why it was residing on the sofa.

"Um, have a seat. If you can find a place. I don't often have guests, obviously."

Draco found a chair whose seat was surprisingly free of books and sat down.

"All right, so you know where Harry is and you say he's fine. Where is he and what's happened to him? I haven't heard from him in weeks. Couldn't he send an owl?"

"He might have, if only he had remembered you."

She sank down on the sofa, crushing a number of newspapers before absently lifting her bum and pushing them onto the floor. "Obliviated?" she whispered.

"No, I don't believe so. He had quite a nasty lump on the head when I found him. I believe it knocked his memories askew or something. He is beginning to recall more and more, although he still has no recollection of the murder-incident. We had to find out about that from reading the _Prophet_."

"Merlin, so the list of names, all the research I've done, it's all useless."

"Not entirely. I believe you are onto something with Salisbury, although I have to wonder why he has suddenly acquired enough personality to make a bid for Minister. He always seemed a bit of a milksop."

"You know him?"

"By casual acquaintance only, and I've been out of the country for several years. Perhaps he changed naturally."

"No, I think you're right and his strings are being pulled by someone else, although I've been unable to discover who, or why. Where is Harry?"

"I'll take you to him, if you'd like. He doesn't trust me anymore, so I thought it would be wise to bring in someone he can rely on. I suspected you immediately once we retrieved the satchel from the vault. I could not imagine you ever turning on him."

"That was you helping him? I wondered, after the news hit the press. Why doesn't he trust you?"

"You'll discover that for yourself in about five minutes."

She frowned and then set about readjusting the wards on her fireplace. Draco approved. He didn't want Mr Auror Partner taking it upon himself to check up on Draco once he discovered there was no Malcolm Dracaena in the Ministry Records Department. That department was likely closed up tightly for the night, so Draco hopefully had until working hours tomorrow before Greene-Meyer raised any sort of outcry.

"Harry washed up on my doorstep," Draco explained. "I've been living on the Spanish coast for several years, not far from Valencia. I'm not quite sure how Harry found me, honestly. The odds are astronomical, but it's possible that my magic drew him to me—there is a theory that under duress magic will seek out magic."

Granger nodded. "I've read that. Remington's Hypotheses Regarding Magical Resonances and Attraction."

Draco snorted. "Indeed. I would have been surprised if you hadn't." He indicated a giant stack of books piled atop a nearly table. "You probably have it on hand in here somewhere."

She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Actually, I think I borrowed that one from the library at Hogwarts. Some of Remington's ideas were hogwash."

"Regardless of how it happened, Harry washed up on my doorstep and I nursed him back to health. I recognised him immediately, of course, and felt that he would view me with suspicion and possibly even hatred when he awoke. I preferred to avoid that, so I used Polyjuice. Yesterday I was forced to reveal my true identity." He paused. "Harry did not take it well."

"Why? Who are you?"

Draco did not reply. He could feel the warning signs; his skin was tingling, ready to morph back into his own. He itched to hold his wand, lest Granger go on the attack, but he resisted, counting on her need to see Harry trumping any latent desire to punch Draco for his less-than-social behaviour during their school days.

Her gaze went flat and her lips thinned, but to her credit she didn't lift her wand to hex him. "Draco Malfoy. Why? Why would you help him?" She asked when Draco sat before her as himself.

He shrugged. "Perhaps I was bored." _And lonely_, he added to himself. "But now I am invested."

"Invested how?"

"I owe Blaise Zabini fifty thousand Galleons and an apology for Obliviating him and his assistant."

She blinked at him. "Perhaps you should start from the beginning."

Draco nodded and did so.

An hour later, Granger allowed him to Side-Along her to the room that he and Harry shared at the Inn. She kept her wand in hand as they did so. She had popped off to her room prior to their departure and Draco suspected she had left a note for Weasley, and possibly grabbed a Portkey. Her caution was warranted, he supposed, although he had done all of the talking.

When they appeared in the room, Draco's eyes went to the bed, expecting to see Harry sitting up sleepily. Instead, the bed was empty. "Harry?" he called. He hurried to the bathroom, but Harry was not there, either. Merlin, where had he gone? Draco shoved down an immediate sense of panic—which increased exponentially as Granger's suspicious stare bored into him. He flung open the door to the hallway, hoping that Harry had wandered down to the lobby or something.

He found a wand pressed into his throat and a furious-looking Harry standing in the hallway.

"Where have you been?" Harry snarled.

Stung, Draco nearly didn't answer. Bloody hell, was he really so untrustworthy? The fact that Harry was so ready to think him a betrayer when he didn't even have a full set of memories was particularly damning.

"I brought you a friend," he replied with a tight jaw that barely refrained from clenching. He shoved the door open wider and then Granger was flinging herself on Harry, nearly knocking Draco into the door frame.

"Harry!"

With Harry nearly buried in curling hair and girl-bits, Draco pushed past them both. "I'm going for a walk. You two talk to your heart's content. Feel free to Apparate elsewhere since I'm so bloody untrustworthy that I might call down your enemies whilst I'm out." He realised his tone was bitter, but he didn't care. He'd allowed himself to fall for Harry and look what it had gained him.

Now that Harry had Granger, he no longer needed Draco. Perhaps it would be best if he just went back to Spain.

~TBC~


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve - Relative Bearing**

Harry pushed away from Hermione and ran after Draco. The hurt in Draco's tone had cut him to the quick.

"Draco, I'm sorry! I woke up and you were gone and I panicked. I didn't mean to think the worst of you but, Merlin, couldn't you have left a bloody _note_? You left me alone!"

That stopped Draco in his tracks. He spun back and Harry could see anger warring with something else, even in the dim light from the hallway globes. He supposed they shouldn't be arguing in the hallway of a random inn where anyone could hear them.  
He hurried forward and took Draco's hand. "Come back inside. Please. _Please_."

To his relief, Draco relaxed and then nodded curtly. Harry knew he hadn't been forgiven, but at least Draco wouldn't leave.

"I know you wouldn't sell me out. I know it," Harry added. He meant it, he realised, since Draco had been offered ample opportunity to turn Harry over to his enemies, or even the Aurors. Instead he had risked life and limb to help Harry, in spite of their rocky past history, assuming Harry's sketchy memories were correct.

"Harry?" Hermione asked behind him. Her presence was like a salve on an open wound. And Harry had Draco to thank for that, as well. Impulsively, he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to Draco's lips, deepening it when Draco did not pull away. Hermione's gasp behind him was mirrored in Draco's inhalation of surprise.

"Come back inside," Harry urged again and was relieved when Draco smiled.

"How can I refuse after that?"

Harry tugged Draco back into the room and gave Hermione a bright smile as he passed. She seemed flabbergasted and Harry hoped her stunned silence did not mean he had a wife (or husband) somewhere in the world that he didn't remember. Harry doubted it; surely he would have dreamed about that person by now, or at least had some sort of memory twined around his heart as tightly as that created by Draco.

"I believe you left a few things out of your tale, Malfoy," Hermione murmured as the door shut behind them. Harry sat next to Draco on the bed and Hermione took the desk stool.

"It's great to see you, Hermione," Harry said, "even if I don't remember you very well."

"Malfoy—Draco told me about that. You really have no memory of…anything?"

Harry shook his head. "I remember some things, like every spell I ever learned, but people and things are sketchy. I remembered my cousin this morning—that was particularly unpleasant." Harry shuddered at the memory. "When I washed up on shore I had a huge bump on my head. Oh hey, it's still here. I have no idea where it came from." He pressed two fingers against the lump on his head, smaller now, and less tender, but still faintly painful.

"I might be able to shed some light on that, at least. You were staying at a Ministry safe house on Majorca. We had no idea they would look for you so far afield or we would have taken more care."

"We? Who is we?"

"Kingsley—Minister Shacklebolt—and I. And Ron, of course. We've had to pretend to be shocked and appalled at your flight in order to stay out of danger, not that I have much faith in that, so we've all been extra careful."

"The Minister knew where I was?"

"Of course. It was his idea. After the incident, we decided the best way to draw out the real culprits was to let them sweat about your whereabouts."

"But I can't even remember the incident! We read in the papers that there was some sort of murder and that I was wanted. Are you saying I'm not a criminal?"

"Of course not!"

"What did I tell you?" Draco nudged him, sounding smug.

Hermione made a small sound. "I still find it hard to believe that Draco Malfoy is your staunch supporter. Harry, do you remember anything at all from our school days?"

Draco tensed beside him and Harry glared at her. "Of course I do! Well, I remember some things. I remember Draco was a prat to me. I didn't want to trust him once I discovered who he was, but he could have left me or turned me in, or even called Salisbury once he found out who I was. Instead, he went and brought you here."

She looked dubious, but appeared willing to let it go. "All right, let me tell you what we were able to piece together. You attended a routine meeting at a Ministry villa—in the past few months Kingsley had been holding important discussions away from the Ministry to avoid a curious rash of spies feeding false information to the papers. This meeting was near Norwich. Somehow the food or drink was poisoned, despite dozens of precautions taken to prevent such an eventuality. The catering staff was innocent. Many of their members had been knocked out and their uniforms stolen to simulate serving staff, which speaks of a rather large, organised group.

"We are not certain if the meeting had been planned as an attempt on Kingsley's life, or possibly on yours, Harry. Kingsley had to cancel at the last moment or he would have been there. He sent Undersecretary Bradford in his stead. Kingsley still feels guilty about Bradford's death, although if Kingsley had attended it is completely possible that he might not have survived. Despite being poisoned with the others, Harry managed to escape with Undersecretary Bradford. He Apparated them to St Mungo's, even though Bradford, on top of being poisoned, was badly Splinched."

Harry winced and Hermione gave him a commiserating look. "Harry would not stay at St Mungo's, but instead Apparated directly back to the scene to help the others. We aren't completely certain what happened at that point, but we believe your delirium ended with you Apparating elsewhere and then the poison caused you to pass out. You were missing for an entire day, driving us all spare with worry."

Harry sought Draco's hand without looking. Draco's fingers squeezed into his tightly.

"At least, it drove some of us spare with worry. The rest of the general populace, led by that Skeeter cow, got it into their heads that you were missing because it had been _your _plot. They suggested that you wanted to murder Kingsley and become the new Minister. As though you would need to resort to violence. Merlin, how stupid are people? Of course, when you woke up you Apparated immediately to Kingsley, which turned out to be a lucky choice. He convinced you to go into hiding rather than exposing yourself, both to keep you safe—or at least that was the intention—and to allow you freer movement without being in the constant eye of the press. We also hoped to lure the true culprits into the open with your disappearance."

"And has that worked, then?" Draco asked.

"In part. We've been able to determine the list of potential perpetrators and their motives, which you have seen. Unfortunately, we discovered just how dangerous and far-reaching they were when Undersecretary Bradford was killed at St Mungo's."

"Killed?" Harry felt something squeeze around his chest. "I Splinched him!"

"That's not what killed him. He was in stable condition after the healers fixed his Splinching injury, and they had even neutralised the poison. What we didn't realise at the time was how determined these people were to finish the job. Bradford was under guard at St Mungo's and yet someone managed to get in and murder him as he slept. The hospital guard and several St Mungo's staff were Obliviated, and we could locate no witnesses who saw anything. It was terrible, and also helped to push Kingsley into sending Harry away."

"Who could have got in and out of St Mungo's unnoticed?" Draco's tone was disbelieving.

"A Hit Wizard. Or possibly an Unspeakable. There are a couple of potential candidates on the list."

"How did they find Harry? Is Weasley a mole?"

Harry jabbed him in the ribs. He could not remember much about Ron, but he instinctively knew that Ron would never betray him.

"We aren't certain, but it seems likely they were checking every possible Auror safe house. The problem is that the list of safe house locations is closely guarded and, in theory, only an Auror could have provided it to the enemy."

"Green-Meyers would be first on my suspect checklist," Draco muttered and rubbed his ribs while giving Harry a sideways glance.

"My Auror partner?" Harry frowned, wishing he could remember the man, but nothing at all welled up from his cracked memory.

"Actually, wedon't entirely trust Jacob. He was Obliviated in the initial incident and we all found it a bit odd that he wasn't killed. He hadn't ingested any poison. Whether fortunate for him or not, Jacob cannot recall anything about the attack; perhaps he is innocent and was in the loo when it began, and he got lucky when they decided to use an Obliviate rather than Avada Kedavra. We can't be certain. Ron has been keeping a close eye on him and tracking his movements. Ron calls it 'shared grief and commiseration' in order to stick close to him. So far, however, he hasn't found anything incriminating. Regardless of how they found him, they located Harry and attacked him. The safe house was very nearly destroyed. It's a miracle he made it out alive."

"A miracle or superior skills," Harry pointed out and it was Draco's turn to jab him with an elbow, although Draco smiled when he did so and Harry beamed, pleased at having pulled a smile from him.

"Thank Merlin you got the key before they attacked. They would have suspected me immediately if they'd got hold of the documents I sent."

"So the evidence points to Salisbury but we have no proof?"

"Yes. We need to get it somehow. It should be easier now that you're back, and now that they believe you're dead. I'm certain they've been monitoring every iota of correspondence that Ron, Kingsley, and I have received."

"All right. How do we go about obtaining this proof?"

"It's been really hard for us to track Salisbury without him noticing. The list I sent you is helping. We'd originally planned for you to use the invisibility cloak to enter the homes of the suspects and dig up anything you could find. Mind you, this was _your_ plan. We didn't dare run that by Kingsley due to the breaking and entering aspect."

"Well surely they must be plotting something big, especially considering—" Draco began, but Harry squeezed his leg tightly in warning. Draco finished, "Considering they were willing to take out Harry. They've been rather blatant. Don't you think they'll try something else?"

"Of course. That's why we've been particularly careful."

"All right. I like this invisibility cloak idea. Do you know where it is?"

"I have it. Luckily they didn't seem to have any other motives in Majorca beyond killing you. I located the cloak and your other personal effects in the rubble. I'll go and fetch it now, if you like."

Harry nodded and she popped out of the room.

"Why didn't you want to tell her about the meeting?"

"They are already watching her. What if they decide to snatch her and then slip her some Veritaserum? I don't want to make it seem like we can't trust her, because I do." _Mostly_, Harry added to himself. It was hard to trust someone you only vaguely remembered. "I just don't want to put her in any more danger."

"So we're back to our original plan?"

"Yes. But now we might have an invisibility cloak to help us."

"Definitely a bonus." They were silent for a time and Harry discovered he had been stroking his thumb up and down over the side of Draco's hand.

"Did you mean what you said? About trusting me?" Draco's voice was soft.

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

Hermione popped back into the room and handed Harry a folded bundle. "Here is your cloak. Thank Merlin you didn't lose your wand."

"I must have instinctively held onto it. Hey, Hermione, I don't have a girlfriend or wife or boyfriend somewhere, do I?"

She looked pointedly at Draco for a long time before shaking her head. "No. You were going out with Ron's sister for a long time, but it didn't work out. She took a job with the Holyhead Harpies and you never even dated much after that. You sort of threw yourself into your job."

The final nervous knot released its hold on Harry's innards and he gave her a brilliant smile.

She shook her head. "Anyway, I should be off to let Kingsley know you're alive and we can get on with things again, although I've no idea how your memory loss will affect his plans." She lifted her wand in preparation to leave, but then gave Draco a steely stare. "By the way, Malfoy…"

"I won't do anything to hurt him, Granger."

"See that you don't." Her tone was glacial and then she Disapparated.

"She's sort of frightening, isn't she?"

"That's for certain," Draco muttered.

"I'm glad she's on our side." Harry set the invisibility cloak on the edge of the bed and turned to meet Draco's lovely grey eyes with a heartfelt look. "And you heard what she said, yeah?"

"About going off to see Kingsley?" Draco looked completely innocent.

Harry poked him in the side and laughed. "Not that, you prat. The bit about me having no romantic entanglements."

"No romantic entanglements. That seems a pity."

"I do feel cheated."

"Hmm. A fine figure such as yourself should have at least one entanglement."

"I think so."

"Would you like to be entangled?"

The words made Harry think of kinky bondage and his libido nodded eagerly, prompting his head to follow suit. "I would very much like that, as long as you are the one doing the entangling."

Their lips met with no additional urging and they snogged breathlessly for long moments. This time Harry did not stop his hands from wandering. Draco tasted delicious and he felt even better. A brief tussle occurred when each of them tried to push the other back onto the bed. Harry expected to be stronger, but he had no luck manhandling Draco, who rebuffed Harry's attempt at domination and countered with his own steady push. It ended in a stalemate when they toppled sideways and lay facing one another.

Amusement danced in Draco's eyes and Harry chuckled. "I really want to see you naked," he admitted. The amusement fled, chased away by something that darkened the grey and made Draco surge in for more kissing. His hands found Harry's t-shirt and tugged it free of his trousers.

"Likewise," Draco murmured against his lips. "Seeing you in that towel nearly caused me to wank on the spot."

"That would have been a sight. Care to indulge in the urge now?"

"I would prefer _your _hands there. And your mouth."

Harry swallowed hard, thinking of taking Draco's dick into his mouth and sucking. He suddenly wanted it quite badly and groped for Draco's trousers. Draco stopped kissing him long enough to assist, and then kicked the garment away. His pants were black silk, longer and somewhat clingier than boxers. Harry studied them, interested.

"Do all pure-bloods wear these?"

"Less fashion critique, more sucking. And I don't know."

Harry pressed his palm against Draco's bulge and curled his fingers around it. Draco made a lovely sound and Harry squeezed before dragging his fingertips up the hard length until he reached the tip, which strained against the black ribbons that held the pants together. Harry thought he might have to switch from his usual underwear; Draco's were appealing.

Then again, everything about Draco was appealing, especially the way his breath caught whenever Harry touched him, and the clutch and squeeze of his fingers on Harry's shoulder, and the quick, fleeting kisses he pressed on whatever part of Harry he could reach—such as the top of his head as it descended.

Harry scooted down until his face was level with Draco's crotch, and then he peeled the silk fabric away to expose Draco's cock. It was long, dark, and very hard, with visible veins that Harry wanted to run his tongue over. He gave in to the urge, and grinned at Draco's response, even though the hand clutching in his hair hurt a bit.

"Harry. Fuck!"

"Not quite yet," Harry replied and set to. He wondered if he had ever sucked cock before and decided it didn't matter, because he planned give Draco the best blow job of his life, whether he be a novice or master. Unfortunately, the need for air won out over determination and he wondered if there was an easier way to take all of it without choking to death.

"Easy," Draco said, "you're doing fine." His hand gentled in Harry's hair and stroked lightly.

Harry relaxed and stopped trying so hard. He settled into a rhythm and tried to note Draco's reactions to each motion. Harry tongued the veins and ridges of his cock, and lapped and swirled over the head, and sucked both lightly and hard, enjoying each moan and gasp and clenching of fingers.

"Yes." Draco's whisper was a hiss. "Yes, Harry."

Harry dragged his fingers over Draco's balls, mapping their texture and sensitivity, and then cupped them in his palm to tease the soft skin behind. Draco quivered.

"Oh hell, I think I'm going to—wait, I don't want to come yet."

Harry's questing fingers went even farther back and he sucked hard at the same time his index finger skated over Draco's puckered skin and then Draco swore loudly and something hot and bitter spurted into Harry's mouth. He pushed himself up immediately and kissed Draco, feeling wicked and rather smug.

Draco's grip on his hair had tightened and he pulled Harry away to give him an unreadable look. "My turn," he said and it sounded like a threat. Rather than feeling alarm, a thrill sang through Harry's blood. He lay back, eagerly anticipating anything Draco wanted to do to him, and surprising himself with his own level of trust.

Draco, still partly dressed, took his time divesting Harry of every stitch of clothing. His fingers dragged suggestively over Harry's skin as he did so, caressing, squeezing, and clawing gently with his short nails. His eyes frequently met Harry's during the operation, gleaming with bright intensity.

Harry was panting and aching with need by the time he'd finished, and Draco had nearly ignored his cock, other than to fix it with a stare followed by a smile that had Harry's heart racing with anticipation.

Draco braced himself on his hands and looked at Harry once more, running his gaze slowly down to his toes and then up again to meet his eyes. "You were so skinny in school. Still attractive, I suppose, especially in sixth year, but now you're..."

"Fat?" Harry supplied.

Draco laughed and shook his head. "No, silly. Fit. Very, very fit." His palm stroked over Harry's abs and he was never so glad for whatever physical exercise he had done to earn himself a body that caused Draco to look at him like that.

"I've always thought you were gorgeous. At least, I think I did. I remember a few things from school and even though you were a prat, you were a hot prat."

"Thanks. I think." Draco smirked and then pressed a molten kiss to Harry's lips. His hand continued to stroke across Harry's abdomen and then continued lower. His fingers dragged through Harry's pubic hair and tugged gently, earning a groan and an involuntary hitch of Harry's hips. His cock felt full enough to burst and the ache was almost unbearable.

"Please," he murmured just as Draco wrapped a hand around it. Harry's eyes shut and he released a blissful sigh. He had no memory of anyone ever touching his cock. He gratefully ranked it as the best thing ever, although it quickly dropped in position when Draco began to stroke, supplanted by even better things.

"I want to fuck you," Draco said in a rough, sexy tone that thrummed through Harry's ears and straight to his libido. "I want to fuck you so hard that it will erase every bad memory you have of me."

"I've had more than enough memory erasing, thank you," Harry replied with a chuckle,"but I am certainly up for the fucking."  
"You are, but I'm not quite there, thanks to your brilliant mouth. If only a spent erection could be restored by will alone." Draco continued to move his hand, twisting and stroking with exactly the right pressure and motion. Harry was more than happy to get off however Draco chose, although he wouldn't mind—he hadn't quite completed the thought when Draco's mouth enveloped his cock. Harry nearly came at the overwhelming brilliance of it, so hot, wet, amazing. He tried to give voice to his pleasure, but only a wordless, unintelligible noise issued forth.

Draco replied with his tongue, curling and stroking along the length of Harry's cock. The first time he hollowed his cheeks and sucked, Harry could not hold it any longer. He cried out a quick warning and then came, closing his eyes for only a moment before forcing them open to watch. Draco met his eyes and took Harry even deeper as he swallowed. Harry thought his heart might actually stop beating because nothing could possibly be hotter. His cock twitched and gave up a final spurt as shivers of bliss left Harry tingling and sated.

Draco levered himself up and sprawled over Harry's chest.

"Bloody hell, we should have been doing that since I washed up in Spain."

"I did not want to jump you as Malcolm. I was jealous enough of him when you started to like him."

Harry stroked a hand through Draco's soft, damp hair. "It was a bit weird at first, but now I've finally accepted that Malcolm was you all along. Everything he was, everything I liked about him, was there in you all along. You were never two different people, Malcolm was simply a part of you that you never let other people see. A softer version of you, maybe."

"That's very philosophical."

"I can be philosophical!"

Draco shifted and then flicked his tongue over Harry's right nipple. "I can be philosophical about your cock."

Harry chuckled. "All right, We won't talk about you. But I do like you, just so you know."

Draco sighed and laid his head back on Harry's chest. "I like you, too, Harry."

Harry pulled him closer and closed his eyes, feeling better than he had in... Well, he couldn't remember how long, but that was okay.

~TBC~


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen - Stowaway**

Draco held tightly to Harry as they walked along the wall that hid the large building from view. It was hard to walk in step while maintaining such proximity and they stumbled frequently. To make it worse, they both had a case of the giggles, started when Draco had decided that his favourite bits to clutch were Harry's arse and half-hard bulge.

"Stop it," Harry said in a stage whisper, but the chuckle that followed did not discourage Draco. He squeezed again.

"I want you right here and now, Potter."

"We are on a filthy, cold road and we are supposed to be spying."

"We can spy later. They aren't going anywhere." Draco pushed Harry up against the wall, breathless from more than the close air beneath the invisibility cloak. He kissed Harry soundly, somewhat surprised at his own raging sex drive. Normally he had more control, but ever since getting a taste of Harry he had been ready for more. It felt as if a flame had been ignited and needed more and more tinder to keep it alight.

Harry kissed him back and both of his hands squeezed Draco's arse. Draco arched against him and ground his erection into Harry's, which was pleasantly no longer half-hard, but just as solid as Draco's.

The sound of footsteps on the gravel caused them both to freeze. Without speaking, they hunched down in order to conceal their feet. Together they were just a bit too large for the voluminous cloak. Draco turned his head in accord with Harry's and they watched as a man passed them by. He was tall and broad, covered in a thick scarlet cloak, and walked at a rapid clip.

"Recognize him?" Harry asked when the man had passed.

"No. I couldn't see his face."

"Big man. Looked like he had a beard."

"Definitely wasn't Salisbury. He's shorter and larger around."

"But he must be heading for an entrance. Let's go! Maybe we can slip in behind him."

Only mildly depressed that his amorous plan had been scuppered, Draco fell into an awkward shuffling step with Harry. Their footsteps made no sound, at least, thanks to a Sound Dispelling Charm that Harry had cast. A large iron gate appeared ahead, set between two stone posts topped with ornate stone lions.

"Gryffindors," Draco muttered. "That explains everything."

"Prat." Harry poked him in the ribs with his wand and then held it at the ready once more. Draco felt more secure with the wand in Harry's hand, even more so than he felt with his own clutched in a tight grip.

The iron gate retracted, bar by bar, rather than swinging open. Harry quickened his step, practically dragging Draco along. They would have less time than usual before the gate snapped shut. By the time the cloaked man walked through they were nearly on his heels. Draco placed his feet with infinite care; one stumble and they would fall directly against the man.

The gate banged closed behind them and Draco had a horrible moment thinking it had shut on the invisibility cloak, but there was no heart-stopping tug. Even so, Harry halted and let the man outpace them by several steps.

"You okay?" Harry whispered.

Draco nodded. He scanned the grounds with a critical eye. The lawn was well-manicured and the path made of multi-coloured crushed gravel. A sculpted ivy archway led to an enclosed garden. The manor itself was imposing, but not as large nor impressive as Malfoy Manor. Draco wrinkled his nose at the comparison and made a mental note to check that the house-elves were keeping the climbing roses in check at his familial home; they assuredly were not at this particular place. The walls were thick with brambles and probably housed all manner of vermin.

It gave him a pang to realise he hadn't been home in months. A brief stint at Christmas had been his last visit. He wondered how his parents would accept him bringing home Harry Potter. Not lightly, he assumed, thinking of his father with a grimace. Lucius' opinion, however, had not carried much weight with Draco since the war. Funny how simple adulthood could change one's outlook. Of course, the fact that he was now here with Harry Potter was proof enough of that.

"Should we follow him straight inside or find another entrance?" Harry asked, drawing Draco's attention back to the present.

"Follow him in. We've no idea what sort of wards they've placed on the house. The windows and doors might be inaccessible, or at least have alerts set up to warn someone."

"Right. I should know that, shouldn't I?"

"Well, since you can't even remember that you're an Auror, I imagine you won't remember any of your training, either."

"Good point. Let's follow him."

They had lagged back, but they increased their pace to catch up to the man and reached him just as he started up the stone steps that led to a large door. It opened immediately and someone inside growled a greeting. Thankfully, he did not stop to chat, but moved into the foyer at the same determined clip, so Draco and Harry slipped inside just before the door closed. The doorkeeper's attention seemed firmly fixed upon the other man; they bypassed him easily and began to move more cautiously, conscious of the danger that would result from the cloak exposing their feet. Luckily, the floor was marble so they had no worries of stepping on a loose board.

Loud voices came from a doorway down the hall, just beyond a grand staircase that ascended to another level.

They peered into the door and Draco saw an oblong table littered with a variety of papers, water goblets, and unlit candles. Two men sat at the table and a woman stood at the far end. Another man turned away from the window to greet the newcomer.

"Salisbury," Draco murmured to Harry, "by the window."

The door opened behind them and the danger of being discovered by the sheer bad luck of standing in the way became real. Harry tugged at Draco and they made their way to the stairs and quickly ascended. A bored-looking man stood at the top, obviously placed there to discourage anyone from exploring the upper storeys.

They bypassed him silently and Draco was pleased to see a long railing that separated them from a fall into the room below. Poor planning on the conspirators part had given them a room open to easy spying, despite the guard watching.

They hurried to the farthest wall from the guard and parked themselves next to a potted palm. Harry leaned partly over the railing and Draco followed suit to avoid the cloak from riding up to expose them.

"Recognise anyone other than Salisbury?" Harry asked.

"Yes. The one nearest us is Eustice Grant, from Magical Games and Sports, and next him is Ferdinand Montebello, head of Magical Transportation. I don't recognise the woman or the bearded fellow." The newcomer was not visible, having stopped just below their line of sight.

"Any news?" Salisbury asked.

"The Minister still plans to join us."

"Against my better judgement," the woman said. Her voice was clear and strong and Draco looked at her, trying to place her while Harry tensed next to him.

"Kingsley is coming here?"

"That is bad, isn't it?"

"Given what we've learned, it's very bad! I thought this would be a planning meeting and we would discover their agenda, but now it seems this may be their agenda! They could attempt to kill Kingsley!"

"And blame it on you. Merlin, we've got to warn him."

"I can't cast a Patronus from here, but it's the only way."

"You'll have to go outside. The garden should be sheltered enough to shield you from view."

"_We'll _have to go outside," Harry corrected.

"Don't be foolish. By the time we shuffle out there, Shacklebolt will be here. You'll be faster going alone. I'll be fine under a Disillusionment Charm."

It was obvious that Harry wanted to argue, but there was no time for that. "Go. I can listen for anything useful they might say while you get out there and be heroic."

"All right, but I'm casting the charm." With that, Harry lifted his wand and cast. Draco felt a tingle of magic, followed by a second burst.

"Shall we test it?" Draco asked. He backed out from under the cloak and stood, wand at the ready, facing the guard. The man did not seem to notice him. Draco could not see Harry at all, even though he knew where to look. A grasping hand on his arm startled him.

"I can't see you at all unless you move, and then I can only see an odd shifting around you. That would be suspicious enough for someone to investigate, so try not to move. I'm adding a Notice-Me-Not to discourage anyone from looking your way." Another rush of magic settled over Draco and he felt quite protected.

"Brilliant. Now, _go_!"

"I would kiss you if I could see you," Harry said in a low voice, very close. Draco waited, but nothing additional was forthcoming. At last he decided that Harry had gone, so he turned—slowly—back to the room below.

"Who else is coming to this thing?" The woman's voice was scathing; she reminded Draco of Pansy and he decided he liked her.

"Aside from you and Auror Greene-Meyers, Jeremiah Wembley, and Nathanial Dobson, and Isa Bhattachaya."

"Isn't it a bit dangerous to have the heads of so many departments in one place after what happened to Undersecretary Bradford and the others?"

"We are all together at the Ministry nearly every day, Auror Freeman, and this is why we have so many Aurors present today. Surely you can protect us?" Salisbury's voice was mild, but contained enough sarcasm that Draco found himself leaning over the railing just to see if Freeman would toss a hex at him.

"How goes it?" The low, rough voice drew Draco's attention and he straightened; turning his head to look towards the guard at the top of the stairs. Ice crystals seemed to form in his blood and pump through his body, leaving him cold. Fenrir Greyback gave the guard a toothy stare—the boy seemed wisely uncomfortable in his presence—and then his eyes narrowed and his attention shifted away from the boy.

He walked around the guard and moved towards Draco, who nearly lifted his wand in a defensive reflex, but then he remembered that any movement might expose him. He stayed where he was and tried to refrain from blinking. He barely dared to breathe.

Fuck, why Greyback? That was unexpected. He hadn't been on any of Granger's lists, nor had Draco seen a single mention of him since the war.

The werewolf was moving ever closer, _sniffing the air_. Draco grimaced and hoped to hell his bathing products were subtle enough in scent that Greyback would think they were natural to the house. The closer he came, however, the more Draco realised it was a vain wish.

To his surprise, Greyback halted just before walking into him and then leaned sideways to peer over the railing before stepping back, out of sight of those below. Draco wondered how Auror Freeman would react to the sight of Fenrir Greyback. Draco nearly called out, just to test the theory, but before he could open his mouth Greyback spoke.

"I would recognise your scent anywhere, Malfoy cub. What brings you here? There hasn't been much news of you in the past few years, so it's possible you could be working either side. Or neither." Greyback drew in another breath and Draco unclenched his fingers from his wand, forcing himself to relax. He would have to move quickly, once he decided what spell would work the best. All hell would break loose the moment he moved. He wondered where Harry was.

Greyback was near enough that he was within the border of Draco's Silencing Spell. He could speak without anyone else overhearing. "My side is my own, as always. I have found that it pays to stay abreast of certain political machinations."

Without warning, Greyback sprang. He caught Draco across the chest with one enormous arm and propelled him backwards at speed. His claws unerringly found Draco's throat and dug in painfully just as Draco slammed into the wall. The charm cancelled any sound, although the guard noticed Greyback's sudden movement and pulled out his wand, springing into an alert crouch.

Draco's wand pressed into Greyback's side, but the werewolf squeezed, preventing any sound—or spell—as he choked off Draco's air supply.

"You reek of Potter, Malfoy. I would know that bastard's scent in a crowd of unwashed Beltane dancers. Curious to smell him on you, I must admit. Where is he?"

Grey mist began to overtake Draco's vision as he fought for air. He would not have been able to reply to the question even if he had known the answer. A clawed fist yanked Draco's wand out of his hand and Greyback's other hand left his throat to curl into the hair at the back of Draco's head.

"Come along. We need to have a little chat." He waved the guard off and dragged Draco past the stairs and far down the hall to the last doorway. He shoved Draco inside, hard enough that he stumbled and nearly fell, and then cast _Finite Incantatum_. Draco cringed as the charms dissipated; they hadn't been any real protection, but he still felt exposed without them. Two more spells followed, but they were aimed at the door—a Locking Charm and a Silencing Spell.

"Is Potter here? You might as well tell me now because you know I will have it out of you. Perhaps a taste of pain will jog your memory. _Crucio_!"

Draco lifted nearly onto his toes with the sudden onslaught of pure agony. Almost worse than the pain itself were the memories it conjured, not of Harry, as Greyback had insinuated, but of flat, red eyes in a horrible, dead face, watching with a cold smile as Draco writhed and begged for mercy. He knew the nightmares would return in force that night, if he survived the remainder of the day.

The torture went on and on, without questions or opportunity to answer them, until Draco suspected that Greyback cared nothing of Harry at all, and simply tortured Draco for sheer enjoyment.

At last it stopped, and Draco lay gasping in the floor with pain-induced tears leaking into his hair and his vision alternating between white and black. His mouth was full of blood from where he had bitten his own tongue repeatedly. Greyback pounced atop him and crushed Draco's wrists into the floor. He was enormously heavy and his breath reeked of foul, rotted meat.

"I wonder how Potter will feel when I turn you, boy. Potter is all for the Magical Creature Equality Proposition." He said it with such a sneering tone that it penetrated the haze of pain that filled Draco's senses.

"Aren't... you?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

Greyback laughed; it was an ugly sound. "So smug and superior, aren't you? Even now. You fucking think you're so much better than me. Well, you're not_. _Humans and werewolves are not equal. _We are superior_. I can crush you without half trying. And you call us _non-humans_ and try to pass bloody laws to protect us. That's a bloody laugh, considering I can rip your throat out with a single twitch of my hand. Soon you pathetic humans will have to beg us for mercy. Who will need protecting then?"

"Then why are you here?"

"No, I am asking the questions, Malfoy. But first, I think I'll have a taste or two." Greyback opened his horrifically jagged teeth in a grin that caught the light and looked all the more frightening for its resemblance to some appalling beast.

Greyback lowered his mouth to Draco's exposed neck.

Draco tried not to think of Harry as he braced himself for this new horror. His luck was holding steady; for every good thing that happened to him, something horrible always followed. He gave himself up to the inevitability of it, even as he mourned the loss of whatever he and Harry might have found together.

It was a terrible pity.

~TBC~


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen - Part Brass Rags**

The garden was quickly reached after a charm sent the guard to investigate a simulated sound whilst Harry opened the front door and slipped through. Harry could not remember what Kingsley looked like well enough to send a Patronus Charm directly to him, but he knew he could send one to Hermione.

A happy thought was easy to procure—Harry smiled as he thought of Draco and the brilliance of touching him, and being touched—and a pale stag practically exploded from the end of his wand before shooting over the wall and away.

Hoping Hermione would reach Kingsley in time to stop him from entering the trap, Harry turned and hurried back to the house. He was slowed by a small group of persons waiting on the steps. They were arguing with the doorman.

"I have every right to bring my secretary along! What is the damned meaning of invite-only and a closed gathering! We are not a secret society we are part of the bloody Ministry of Magic!"

"Sorry, sir," the doorman said. "Minister's orders."

"Preposterous! Is Kingsley here? I will have a word with him at once!" The large man was loud and full of bluster. He was also blocking Harry's path to Draco.

"Of course, sir. You may enter and await him in the conference room, but I am afraid your secretary will have to remain here or return to London."

The man began to wind up again, but the young woman with him placed a hand on his arm. "Never mind, Norton. I will just go back and—"

"You will do no such thing! I cannot be expected to take my own notes and I'll not have them handed to me later by some incompetent ne'erdowell!"

Harry sighed and debated finding another way in, wards or no wards. As soon as it occurred to him, he recalled several methods of disarming wards and cracking through warning systems without triggering them.

_Bless you, Auror training_, he thought as he hurried away and rounded the side of the manor, intent on locating a side door or rear entrance. He added an additional thought of gratitude for his returning memories. Hopefully soon his past would no longer be a patchwork of scattered visions and half-formed images.

A small side door appeared tucked into an alcove, possibly a servant's entrance. Harry cast spells upon the portal in rapid succession, testing for traps, listening charms, alarms, and potentially lethal warding spells. He was almost pleased when he located a simple alarm-tripping spell and disarmed it with ease. At least he had been correct to worry. Beyond that, however, he found nothing out of the ordinary, so he opened the door with an _Alohomora _and stepped inside.

It had been a common practice in early days for wizards to commandeer Muggle homes, especially the nicer manors and castles, and then modify them to suit their needs. This seemed to be one of those, with a servant's entry that led to a warren of small rooms that had once been the quarters of the butler, maids, and their assorted coworkers.

Wizards seemed to use the rooms as storage—one room, with an open door, was completely filled with an assortment of cauldrons in varying sizes. Harry wondered who the manor belonged to.

He took a wrong turn twice and finally located a small flight of steps that took him to a long hallway down which voices projected. He followed the sound at a half-jog, hoping Draco was all right, although there was no outcry, so he assumed everything was fine.

The blustering man was inside the conference room already—Harry probably would have made better time by simply waiting—and his loud voice drowned all other nearby sounds. Harry took the stairs two at a time and easily bypassed the guard at the top. The man was not even watching the steps, instead stood several steps away and seemed to be listening down the hall.

Shaking his head, Harry hurried towards the palm. He slowed and outstretched his hands, hoping he wouldn't scare Draco half to death with his unseen groping. The thought of groping Draco caused him to smile and he moved forward with a more lecherous intent, but his questing hands encountered nothing. He kept moving until he encountered the fronds of the palm and stopped, confused.

"Draco?" he whispered.

He cast about in the area nearer the wall, calling for Draco in a low voice, even though no one outside of a two-foot radius would be able to hear him.

Harry started to panic when he realised Draco was no longer there. Where had he gone?

About to tear willy-nilly through the house, he forced himself to take several calming breaths and _think_. Where would Draco have gone, and why? Surely he hadn't gone downstairs. The voices drifting up from below were perfectly clear. Salisbury's strident, "Sit down, sir!" was quite loud. Harry peered over the railing and saw the group arguing below. The tense air of waiting that had filled the room previously was gone; now everyone seemed to be talking at once and Harry wondered if spells would start to fly.

He would have been far more interested if he'd known where Draco had gone. Could he have run into foul play? He glanced at the guard, who was moving down the hall away from Harry. He stopped and put an ear to the door at the far end, obviously listening intently for something within. After a moment he shook his head and then strode back to his post.

Curious, Harry moved that direction, trying to stifle instinctive warning bells that had sprung up within him. Once before the door, he reached out and tried the handle only to find it locked. It seemed to take forever to cast a series of questing spells to determine if it were only locked and not warded, but finally he deemed it safe to cast and Unlocking Charm and step inside, closing it quickly behind him.

Neither of the occupants of the room seemed to have noticed the door opening and shutting. Harry gaped, frozen for an instant at the sight and trying to negate the reality of it. As he watched, Fenrir Greyback opened his mouth and bent down, obviously intent on biting Draco, on possibly tearing open his jugular vein and killing him.

Draco's feet dug into the carpet and heaved, obviously attempting to shove the werewolf away from him, but the solid mass that made up Greyback barely moved at all.

Harry's spell, however, accompanied by a shouted, "_Get away from him!_" that only he could hear, was much more effective. Greyback literally lifted off of Draco, flew through the air, and banged into a desk and chair that stood nearby.

Draco lay unmoving, but Harry heard a soft sound, mixed with relief, that made up his name. "_Harry_." He didn't bother taking the time to enjoy it. Instead, he yelled, "_Expelliarmus_!" and snatched Greyback's wand out of the air as it flew towards him. The werewolf leaped up quickly, but then Harry noticed that Draco was still not moving and knew that he had to be hurt, possibly even _bitten_, and everything in Harry's reality skewed sideways. A sudden roaring in his ears tinted everything in the room red-violet.

"_Protego!_" Harry shouted when Greyback leaped at Draco again. Greyback bounced away from Harry's Shield Charm like a rubber ball and Harry followed the spell with a Stunner so powerful that it clipped Greyback's leg and left a long scorch mark on the wooden floor. Greyback was fast—almost blindingly so—but the spell left his leg dragging. The werewolf headed for a window, obviously planning to dive through and escape, but Harry was having none of that.

"_Glaciasolem!_"

The floor beneath Greyback's feet became instant ice and his feet slipped out from under him. He recovered almost instantly using scrabbling claws and powerful muscles, and stove to regain his momentum, despite finding no purchase on the slippery surface.

"_Incarcerous!_" Harry yelled and repeated the incantation twice more. Magical ropes wrapped around Greyback, despite his flailing arms trying to keep them away. Greyback roared as he slid on the ice again and went down hard, banging his chin on the floor when the ropes finally caught and bound his arms.

Three more shouted spells left Greyback unconscious, finally penetrating even his magical defences. Harry sagged in relief and debated walking over to kick the werewolf a few times, just for the satisfaction.

"Harry?" Draco struggled to rise.

Harry abandoned his vengeful thoughts immediately and hurried to help Draco. _Merlin, let him be all right_, he thought fervently. He slid an arm around Draco's back and held him tightly.

"Ow," Draco said.

Harry loosened his grip and stepped back to look at Draco, rage igniting in his veins anew. "What did he do to you?"

Draco shook his head and held Harry's arms. "Not much. A few... _Crucios_. More than a few. My tongue hurts."

Harry nearly vibrated with the need to turn around and cast _more than a few _Cruciatus Curses on Greyback. He might have done so but for the need to help Draco overriding his murderous rage. Healing Charms—did he know any? At once a number of spells produced themselves from his memory. He lifted a hand to touch Draco's jaw gently.

"Open your mouth."

Draco did so, and pushed his tongue out for Harry's inspection. It bled from numerous gashes; his teeth were stained red. Harry steadied himself and promised Greyback a lifetime in Azkaban if he could refrain from killing him, and then he lifted his wand and cast the gentlest Healing Charm he could recall.

Draco's tongue knit back together in moments and his eyes fluttered closed with a sigh. Harry leaned in and kissed him, not caring that he tasted of blood. "Better?" he asked.

"Much better. Shouldn't we...?" He gestured at the door.

"Yeah. I sent Hermione a message, but there is no guarantee that she'll be able to stop Kingsley. I'm afraid we'll have to deal with this ourselves."

Draco walked over and retrieved his wand from Greyback's body and then added a few more ropes in strategically pain-inducing places. "Good luck getting out of those, arsehole," he muttered.

Harry cancelled the Silencing Spell on the room and then opened the door a crack before dragging his wand tip over the wood. The sound was quiet, but noticeable. Draco threw the invisibility cloak over Greyback and then joined Harry behind the door.

A moment later the curious guard pushed the door open, wand first, and Harry's Full Body-Bind turned him instantly rigid. They caught his body before it fell and carried him to the bed. Harry divested him of his wand and tucked it away with Greyback's.

"That one will last a few hours. Grab the cloak and let's go."

Harry would not leave the room until Draco agreed to wear the invisibility cloak. His movements were stiff and he was obviously feeling an abiding ache from the Cruciatus Curses. Harry wanted to get him to St Mungo's to make certain he wasn't suffering from internal injuries or worse.

He walked onto the landing with Draco behind him and leaned over the railing to look down into the entry hall. The bored doorman looked up in time to meet the Stunner face-on. Harry's subsequent Cushioning Charm kept him from hitting the ground with a clatter.

A quick _Wingardium Leviosa_ levitated the man up to the landing and Harry guided him into the room with the others by barely flicking his wrist.

"Bloody show-off."

Harry grinned in the direction of Draco's soft voice. "I'll bet it turns you on," he replied in what he hoped was a sexy tone. "I'll bet you want to sex me up right here on this landing."

Draco's answering snort was loud and Harry stifled a chuckle as he headed back towards the railing that overlooked the room where the others were meeting. Blustering Man was now quiet; either he had been appeased or had departed. Harry beckoned Draco closer; he didn't dare show his face over the railing with the Auror below—she would spot him in a trice.

"Have a look. See if anything looks suspicious."

He felt Draco moved next to him, unseen beneath the cloak, and listened to the voices that rose from below.

"What are we waiting for? And why is this meeting at such a faraway location? I would expect us to make smarter decisions considering what happened last time."

"Shall we hide inside the Ministry, then?" Salisbury's voice was scathing. "I, for one, refuse to be intimidated by the assumption that Harry Potter is plotting to kill us all. Besides, no one has seen him for weeks."

"I think it's ridiculous to keep blaming Potter without proof! For all we know he could have been kidnapped, or murdered." Harry warmed at the woman's words; he hoped he had known her back when his memory had been whole.

"He was spotted in Diagon Alley three days ago! There were witnesses!"

"What do you think, Jacob? You were his partner. Was Potter capable of murder?"

Harry drew in a breath just as Draco's hand shot out and gripped his. He hadn't known Jacob was in attendance. Perhaps he had come in while Harry had been occupied with Greyback, or maybe he'd been there all along.

"Everyone is capable of murder, Connie. It isn't that difficult if one has the intent. I find it hard to believe that Potter had a proper motive."

"The man is mad! The events of his youth have unhinged him and now he is power-crazed." Harry scowled at Salisbury's words; he wondered what he had ever done to cause the man to hate him so.

The front door banged open, startling Harry, who whirled around with his wand at the ready. To his surprise, Kingsley Shacklebolt strode across the entry hall, flanked by two serious-looking Aurors.

"Minister!" Salisbury called. "How good of you to finally arrive. Perhaps we can now begin."

Harry leaned close to Draco and peered over the railing.

"William Salisbury, you are under arrest for—"

Harry did not hear the rest of Kingsley's words. His attention had been captured by Jacob, who lifted a large ceramic device from beneath the table. It was identical to the one in the drawing included in the papers Hermione had locked in the vault at Gringotts. It was covered in runes and Harry suddenly had a very bad feeling about it.

Giving in to impulse, Harry launched himself over the railing, landing on the table top with a bang. Before he could register the jolt of pain through his limbs, he drew back his foot and kicked the object straight over Salisbury's head. It crashed through the window and sailed into the grounds behind the house—just before exploding into a blinding fireball. The remaining glass in the windows exploded inward.

Harry lifted an arm to shield his face, but none of it hit him. He glanced up to see Draco's wand hovering in mid-air, held by pale fingers that quickly pulled the wand back beneath the cloak. He felt a rush of pure affection but he pushed it away to turn to Salisbury.

Rather than the expected bluster or angry diatribe, Salisbury only gaped at him and then said, "He would have killed me. He would have killed us all."

"Potter just saved us, you absolute nincompoop!" Connie sat atop Jacob's chest with her wand directed at his throat. "Why, Jacob? Why did you do it?"

"Do what...? What did I do?"

"Auror Freeman is correct. Harry Potter has been under protection ever since Undersecretary Bradford was murdered at St Mungo's after Auror Potter took him there for medical attention."

"What _was _that thing?" the blustering man asked.

"I don't know," Harry admitted.

Salisbury suddenly leaped towards Harry and clutched at the leg of his trousers, ignoring the number of wands suddenly pointed at him. "Potter! You've got to save them! You've got to save my Angie and Paula! He'll kill them!"

"Who will?"

"Fenrir Greyback! He took my wife and daughter months ago! I see them sometimes, in a mirror, and he tells me he'll kill them unless I do what he wants. He plans to kill everyone in the Ministry and replace them with his own men, slowly taking over until he runs everything. He said I would be Minister but I knew that was a lie. I didn't understand until today that he never meant any of it. That device would have killed me along with everyone else!" His eyes were wild and desperate; he bled from several glass-inflicted wounds and a thin sliver was imbedded in his upper arm.

"Greyback is behind this?" Kingsley signalled to his Aurors. "Search the house. See if you can find any trace of him."

"No need. We've got him tied up, upstairs." Harry grinned. "Last room at the end of the hall."

The Aurors hurried away and Salisbury looked hopeful. "He's caught? Merlin be praised. Find them, Auror Potter! Find my wife and little girl!"

Kingsley cast a Binding Charm and took Salisbury into custody. The man seemed slightly unhinged and continued to beg Harry to find them. Harry pitied the man, but it did not change the fact that several people had been murdered. Some part of him must have been a willing participant in the plot or he would have asked for help earlier. As one of those nearly killed—even though he couldn't remember it—Harry's compassion had limits.

"He's here, Minister. We've got Greyback. And two others."

"Take them all back and throw them in holding. Take special care with Greyback. He's a werewolf and has learned to transform without the moon. Keep him unconscious and restrained."

Harry hopped down from the table. Auror Freeman had dragged Jacob to his feet and pushed him against the wall before binding him. "He was under an Imperius," she said. "I can see the signs. But we'll have to take him in and see how deeply he's involved. If we're lucky he'll have been Imperiused all along. Sorry, Potter, I know he's your partner."

"I understand," Harry said.

She clapped him on the shoulder. "Good work, though. I'm a little annoyed at being kept out of the plan, but it seems to have borne fruit."

"I apologize, Head Auror Freeman," Kingsley said, "but we felt it best to keep as few people in the loop as possible. We were not certain how far the conspiracy stretched."

"Understood, Minister. I hope this means Auror Potter will be back to work, soon?"

Harry blinked. Head Auror. Freeman was his boss.

"We will discuss that once this mess has been cleaned up."

She nodded and cast a Patronus to call for backup.

"Harry," Jacob said, "I'm sorry."

Harry nodded, feeling a pang that not only could he not remember his own boss, but he couldn't recall his partner enough to know whether or not Jacob might willingly have been in on the plot.

"I think I'll go and retrieve my own backup. I'll meet you at Headquarters later?"

"Feel free to bring Mr Malfoy with you, Harry. And give him my thanks."

The room cleared out quickly with Blustering Man's nonstop questions lingering in the air. Harry was about to take the stairs when he bumped into something solid. Draco. Harry wrapped his arms around him, cloak and all.

"Take that off so that I can kiss you."

"As you wish, Auror Potter." Draco pulled back the hood of the cloak to reveal a familiar smirk and Harry took great pleasure in kissing it from his face, even though it took quite a long while.

~TBC~


	15. Chapter 15

**Epilogue - Smooth Sailing**

The Auror Department was bedlam. Draco thought every Ministry employee in Britain might be in attendance, and all of them were talking at once. Freeman turned out to be a master at issuing orders, however, and soon she had driven all non-essential personnel out of the immediate area and sent the others away with a variety of duties. The suspects were either in lockup or had been dragged away for questioning under Veritaserum once their solicitors had arrived to throw their legal Bludgers into the proceedings.

Draco was happy enough to sit in Harry's tiny office and wait his turn for questioning. When the time came, he was grilled by Freeman and the Minister himself, without Veritaserum, and he was also allowed to have Harry remain at his side. The story of him finding Harry and bringing him back to London was quickly told, elaborated upon here and there by Harry.

When all possible questions had been answered, Shacklebolt ordered Harry to St Mungo's for treatment in regards to his memory loss, and placed on indefinite leave until such time as he recalled his job duties.

Draco accompanied Harry to the hospital, but the no-nonsense staff members shooed him away and insisted on taking Harry away for analysis and tending. To Draco's embarrassment, he found himself clutching at Harry's hand, anxious.

Harry gripped his hand tightly and leaned close. "Hey. It will be fine."

"What if you get all of your memories back?"

"That's pretty much the idea." Harry's grin was familiar and his eyes sparkled.

"What if you hate me again?" Draco whispered.

Harry pulled him close and pressed his forehead against Draco's. His hand curled into the hair at the back of Draco's neck and stroked lightly. "Draco, anything I remember will not be strong enough to erase my memories of the past few days. I won't hate you. I promise."

With that, he pressed a light kiss to Draco's lips and allowed the healers to pull him away. Draco ignored the whispers and glances, too worried about what might happen despite Harry's assurances.

Uncertain what to do next, he made his way to the lift and stood before the open doors, pondering. He supposed he could go and visit his parents, but there were far too many questions he did not want to have to answer, not with his future so unclear. He was also not ready to face Pansy and her inevitable commentary on Draco's stupidity for falling for the Chosen One. He frowned when he realised he no longer appreciated referring to Harry in derisive capital letters; how far he had fallen.

"Are you all right?"

Draco looked up, surprised, to find Hermione Granger standing nearby. He nodded.

"He'll be fine. They should have his physiology memorised by now, he's been here to often. Would you like a cup of tea? I was about to go home and brew a strong pot."

Although he wondered at her ulterior motive, Draco was grateful enough for the distraction and the unexpected provision of an immediate destination. He accepted her invitation and they made their way to the ground floor and then the public Floo. She had evidently left the wards set to admit him as she made no mention of needing to adjust them. Strangely, he was pleased by the fact.

"Feel free to move any books and papers necessary," she said as she bustled around the kitchen. "One day I need to purchase another bookcase or two."

"Or ten," Draco muttered.

"Or ten," she echoed and Draco smiled.

The tea was strong and hot and Draco drank it without speaking, trying not to reflect upon the tea he had consumed with Harry that morning, just after they had awakened and exchanged brilliant blowjobs. He felt his cheeks growing warm.

"So. You and Harry."

Draco lowered the teacup and met her stare. "Is there a problem?"

Surprisingly, her gaze softened with amusement. "I am mature enough to admit that Harry is grown up enough to make his own decisions. You might think that only Harry's memory loss allowed him to see you in a new light and perhaps it helped that he saw you again with a clean slate, but you should know..."

"Know what?"

"I think he's always fancied you. I've thought about it since I saw you together. Ron and I never quite understood his obsession with you, not even in sixth year when he swore—rightly so—that you were up to something. Watching you was one thing. Obsessively stalking you was another."

"He stalked me?"

"Obsessively." Granger snorted a chuckle and sipped at her tea. "Which was probably a lucky thing considering that was the year you nearly killed a few people."

Draco blanched. "Salazar, what if Harry remembers that? There is no way he will not hate me."

"You do care for him, don't you?"

Draco scowled, but he nodded. "It was nice to be needed." _And wanted_, he thought, although it was likely Harry wouldn't need him any longer once he remembered his past. The wanting, however, would hopefully still be an option.

"Would you like some biscuits? I promise I didn't make them myself." Granger got to her feet and went back into the kitchen, only to return a few moments later with a plate of assorted biscuits. Draco took the one with the most chocolate and nibbled at it. "Do you think Harry's Auror partner is innocent?"

"Jacob?" Granger shook her head. "Unfortunately, I don't believe he is. Ron has been keeping a close eye on him and and behaviour has been suspect, even beyond what an Imperius Curse would suggest. The worst of it is that he was the most likely person to have given away Harry's location. I fear that Jacob was involved from the beginning and they had to Obliviate him when Harry escaped with Bradford in order to keep him from spilling their secrets."

"And Greyback was behind it the whole time. Did they find Salisbury's wife and child?"

"Yes, both terrified and half-starved, but I think they'll be fine. It won't save Salisbury from Azkaban, of course, but he might be given some leniency under the circumstances."

"Where did you get these biscuits?" Draco asked, eating another. They were quite tasty.

Before she could answer, the fireplace flared and expelled a gangly lump of ginger. Draco wrinkled his nose.

"What's _he _doing here?" Ron Weasley asked, rather rudely, Draco thought.

"Have you seen Harry yet?" Granger asked.

"Yeah, at the Ministry. He doesn't remember me. Isn't that weird?"

"Lucky Harry," Draco murmured.

Weasley glared. "Really, what is he doing here?"

"Draco has been helping Harry."

"_Helping_ Harry. That's a laugh. What's he actually doing here?"

"Can I see you in the kitchen for a moment, Ron? Draco, we'll be right back." Granger gave Weasley a pointed stare and then marched into the kitchen. Draco reached for another biscuit and gave Weasley a smug look. He was in for a tongue-lashing. At that moment Draco decided Granger wasn't a bad sort. He might have to make up his past behaviour somehow.

Although it was tempting to eavesdrop and listen to Weasley being chastised, the tea Draco had consumed demanded an exit, so he got to his feet and wandered down the hallway to locate the small loo. He had to admit it was passably charming to discover a large stack of books chock-a-block inside a cabinet near the sink.

He glanced at the titles while he did his business. Wizarding Traditions From 1600 to 1850. 101 Cleaning Charms. How To Tame Your Hair With Six Simple Spells. Fornsby Follett - Charmed Chaser - An Autobiography. Draco suspected the last one had been added with Weasley in mind, unless Granger had a bit of a crush. Curious, he washed his hands and then flipped through the hair-taming book. Curious. Granger's hair seemed just as unruly as ever; Draco wondered if she had actually tried the charms listed.

He started and put the book back when he heard a voice bellow, "Hermione!" For a moment he thought it was Weasley and then he realised who the voice belonged to. _Harry_.

Draco opened the door quietly and listened. Granger's voice was muffled and then grew louder. "Harry! What is it? How do you feel?"

"I'm fine. The healers did a great job. Hi, Ron. Hermione, I need your help!"

Harry's voice sounded frantic and Draco froze with his hand on the door. Did Harry remember, then? What if he never wanted to see Draco again?

"What do you need my help with? What is it? You're scaring me!"

"I'm sorry, but I've looked everywhere! It's Draco, he's disappeared. I thought he might be waiting for me at St Mungo's, but—Salazar, what if he's gone back to Spain? I even went to Malfoy Manor and I think Lucius Malfoy has placed some sort contract out on my life—I'll worry about that later, but he was not pleased to see me. Merlin, where could he have gone?"

Draco pushed open the door and walked down the hallway. "You saw my father? Are you insane?"

For a moment Harry stared at him as though he had Apparated unexpectedly, and then he launched himself into Draco's arms and kissed him.

Weasley's horrified cry was music to Draco's ears. When Harry pulled away, Draco shook his head, bemused. "They couldn't cure you? You don't remember anything?"

Harry smiled. "I remember everything! Isn't it great? I remember Ron and Auror Training and Sunday dinners at the Burrow and Voldemort—well, that part kind of sucks, I have to admit—and I remember how you almost killed Dumbledore and that time you broke my nose and—Merlin, you look amazing."

Draco stared at him. "You remember all of that and you still—?"

Harry laughed aloud. "Of course I still. On top of all that stuff I remember what you did to me this morning. I still— I can't—"

Draco blushed scarlet and Weasley made a sound that defied description whilst Granger coughed into her hand, covering something that might have been a giggle.

"Draco, you didn't honestly think I'd abandon you once I remembered, did you? After all you've done for me? How bloody callous do you think I am?" Harry stepped back, looking properly outraged.

Instead of defending his assumptions, Draco followed Harry with a predatory grin. "Did you honestly go to Malfoy Manor looking for me?"

At Harry's uncertain nod, Draco smiled. "You are even braver than I thought, _Potter_. Such intrepid tenacity deserves a reward, don't you think?"

"A...a reward?" The outrage fled Harry's expression, replaced with something that could only be interest. Draco's last fear fizzled and died, buried in a deluge of excitement. Harry still wanted him.

Draco leaned in and whispered a number of filthy suggestions into Harry's ear, and smiled when Harry stilled to the point of not breathing.

"I remembered that I have a house. With bedrooms. Would you like to see?" Harry's voice was a squeak and then he inhaled, much to Draco's relief.

"I would very much like that, Harry."

Weasley's wordless noises of protests were beginning to be distracting, but Granger shushed him. "Oh, stop, Ron. Can't you see they're in love?"

"I'll talk to you guys tomorrow. Promise," Harry said as took Draco's hand and dragged him towards the fireplace.

"It won't be early," Draco promised and gave Weasley a wink.

"Have fun!" Granger called and then they were in the fire and gone.

Harry was on fire. His memories had been returned after downing a couple of potions and staring into a murky orb whilst a healer had prodded about in his skull with a couple of spells that reminded him of Occlumency and left him with an itch that seemed to reside _inside _of his skull.

The returning flood of his memories had been an unspeakable relief, seeming to fill crevices in his personality that he hadn't been aware of being empty. He had flitted through his past for long minutes, amazed (and horrified) at what he had accomplished in his short life. He was not even twenty-five years old and he'd saved the bloody world from a madman. He'd even died and come back.

When Harry had left St Mungo's, he'd felt like he could do anything. And the one person he wanted to share it with was Draco Malfoy. That had been quite a revelation, but the knowledge of Draco's past had been surprisingly easy to accept. Even though Harry recalled clearly what a prat he had been a Hogwarts, the more recent memories had shown through like beacons, highlighting Draco's loyalty, intelligence, and amazing selflessness.

By the time he'd left the hospital, Harry had accepted the fact that he was in love with Draco Malfoy. Unfortunately, he had been quite unable to locate him. For several dreadful hours, he had worried that Draco had fled back to Spain. Although Harry had been willing to track him there, he'd decided to try Hermione first.

And now Draco was here, in his house. It seemed like every unacknowledged birthday wish he'd ever made had saved itself up and decided to finally reward him.

"This is the, um, kitchen," he said awkwardly. "I used to have a house-elf but he died two years ago. I can't tell you how strange it is to be able to remember things like that. It feels good to remember even if the memories are terrible. Does that make sense?"

Draco moved closer and took his hand. "It does."

Harry gave him a grateful smile. "Are you hungry or would you like to finish the tour?"

"Tour."

It was only one word, but the way Draco delivered it made his heart leap. He hoped his hands wouldn't start to sweat because Draco did not let go and Harry led him upstairs. "Hermione has turned this room into kind of a library. She has so many that the ones she wants to keep for reference and whatever she brings here. I have plenty of space."

"Water closet there, three spare bedrooms on this level, and this..." Harry pushed open a door at the end of the hall, "...is my room."

Draco let go of his hand and walked inside, turning in a slow circle as he evaluated it. Harry tugged at his fringe and tried to look at the room critically. It seemed somewhat cold and lifeless to him, as though he had only been biding time instead of making it into a real home. The furnishings had been in the room when he'd arrived, as had the heavy emerald and black curtains on both the windows and the bed.

Only the bedcovers and the carpets were new, the first a gift from Hermione—she'd shaken her head at the curtains multiple times, but the bedcovers matched—and the latter were a gift from Harry to his feet because the wooden floors were cold in the morning.

"Green, Potter?" Draco lifted a brow. "It's almost as if you knew I was coming."

Harry moved towards him, warmed by the amused tone. "Maybe I was waiting for you." Harry took his hands. "Draco, now that you're here... I mean, I know you live in Spain now, but you were talking about coming back and I... Well, I would really like it if you stayed with me. I know it's probably too soon and we've only—"

His words were cut off as Draco leaned in and kissed him. Hands curled around Harry's hips and Draco walked him backwards to the bed. He pushed gently and Harry fell onto his back, pulling Draco with him. They kept kissing as they scooted towards the centre and then Draco looked down at him with a gentle smile.

"Is that a yes?" Harry asked, and then closed his eyes when Draco's hand curled around his erection and squeezed.

"People will have a lot to say about it."

Harry snorted. "People have a lot to say about everything. I leave the country and _people _decided I was a murderer." He made a soft sound of pleasure when Draco's hand continued to stroke, working up and down the length of his cock.

"Take off your shirt."

Despite wanting to talk, Harry obediently pulled the shirt over his head. It was actually Draco's shirt, as Harry had lost everything he owned in Paris. While he did that, Draco unfastened his trousers and exposed Harry's cock.

"Draco?"

Harry abandoned the talking idea because Draco's hot mouth closed over his cock and he realised he wouldn't be able to string more than two words together unless they consisted of "oh" and "yes." He tried not to thrust up into Draco's mouth but his thighs clenched when Draco's tongue wrapped around his cock and licked maddeningly up to the head before swirling over it repeatedly.

Harry reached out and snagged the waistband of Draco's trousers with his fingertips. "Closer," he managed and Draco shifted so that his arse was near Harry's shoulders and his cock within reach. Harry caressed it through the fabric of his trousers with one hand and used the other to yank Draco's shirt from the waistband. He splayed his hand over Draco's back.

Trying to unbutton trousers at an awkward angle whilst getting a brilliant blowjob was nearly impossible, Harry realised, so he Summoned his wand with a quick "_Accio!_" and then Vanished Draco's trousers and pants.

"Hey!"

"I'll buy you some new clothes. Did you know I'm rich?" Harry fixated on the sight of Draco's pale arse as he ran both hands over his creamy skin. Harry's fingertips slipped into the crack and brushed Draco's arsehole on the way down to his testicles; he gave them a gentle squeeze that earned a harsh sound from Draco.

"I suspected."

Harry's other hand wrapped around Draco's cock and he set about exploring the length of it. Draco resumed lapping at Harry's cock and he hoped he could keep his wits about himself long enough not to come quickly, because what Draco was doing felt amazing.

Draco seemed to know he was approaching the edge; he drew back, turned, and kissed Harry. He still wore his shirt and it drew over Harry's skin in a rough caress. He debated Vanishing it like the rest of Draco's clothing, but he sort of liked it. Instead he put his hands under the shirt and teased Draco's nipples.

"Do you want to—?"

"Yes, I very much want to," Harry replied. He wasn't even arsed about what went where. While the thought of fucking Draco was bloody brilliant, he was equally excited by the prospect of the reverse. And since Draco was already in position... Harry opened his legs encouragingly.

"I was afraid that when your memory returned you would recall that you liked ginger-haired females," Draco said although his hand travelled back down to clutch Harry's cock, possibly to remind him that blond blokes were to be preferred.

"I have a wide range of preferences, apparently," Harry replied, "but so far none of them can hold a candle to one person that I fancy."

"I see. Anyone I know?"

"Maybe," Harry said and kissed him. "Sometimes he goes by Malcolm."

"Malcom? I hear he's brilliant and amazing in the sack."

Harry chuckled and then gasped when Draco's hand sped up on his cock. It was suddenly slick and warm.

"Wandless lubrication charm? I am impressed, Malcolm."

"You haven't seen anything yet." With that almost-threat, Draco straddled Harry and then sat on his cock, sliding it into himself as easily as a knife through butter. Harry nearly cried out at the unexpected sensation, so hot, tight, and beyond anything he'd imagined.

"I expected that to be more difficult," he admitted.

"I've been fucking myself with a conjured toy twice a day since you washed up on my doorstep," Draco admitted. "Trust me when I say I'm well-prepared."

"I... would like to see that one day," Harry admitted and then nearly bit through his lip when Draco began to move, lifting himself and dropping down, grinding and shifting his hips in a way that slowly drove Harry mad. His cock peeped out from beneath the shirt in a tempting display that made Harry wish he was flexible enough to taste it.

He settled for casting his own charm and slathering Draco's cock with scented oil, probably irretrievably destroying Draco's shirt. He supposed a trip back to Blaise's shop might be in order.

Draco threw his head back and made a gasping cry, driving all thought of clothing and Blaise Zabini from Harry's mind. For long, long minutes he thought of nothing beyond the amazing sensations building along his nerve endings, spiralling out from his cock with every driving movement Draco made.

Harry's hands shook as he stroked, trying not to be lost in what Draco was doing to him. He wanted Draco come—and then he was, ruining the shirt even more and spilling hot and wet onto Harry's knuckles. That, combined with the hoarse cry and increasingly frantic motion sent Harry over the edge. His hips thrust upwards roughly, once, twice, and then his toes curled and his own involuntary shout rang into the room.

Draco sagged over him, pressed a sweat-smudged kiss against his lips, and then collapsed next to him.

"You were right," Harry murmured, "that Malcolm fellow is bloody fantastic. I think I'll keep him."

"Quite right you will."

"Does that mean you're moving in?"

"That's a big step. I might have to think about it."

"I promise to be nice to your parents."

"Do you promise not to cut your hair?"

Harry blinked in surprised. He had been thinking about cutting it as soon as his memories had returned, despite the fact that his new attributes had become familiar. "You like my hair?"

"You look like _my_ Harry Potter now, and not theirs."

"I've never been _theirs_, Draco. I've only ever been mine."

"And now you're mine."

Harry chuckled. "I suppose I am."

Draco yawned and snuggled even closer. "What happened to your glasses, anyway?"

"I had them fixed at St Mungo's a year and a half ago. A new spell. It's lucky I did or I'd have been staggering around short-sighted in Spain."

"And you wouldn't have fallen for my astonishing good looks."

"_Malcolm's_ astonishing good looks," Harry reminded him and Draco poked him in the ribs with a finger. He added, "but I'm pretty sure I would have fallen for you if I'd been blind as a bat."

"Well, if you're going to be that complimentary, then I suppose I'll move in with you. On one more condition."

"And that is?"

"Sex twice a day. Minimum."

Harry discovered he was already ready for another round.

"I think I can live with that," he said and pounced.

~FINISHED~

Now I remember why I never post these chapters all at once. *flops* :D


End file.
